Taste of Apples
by Randomnormality
Summary: I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound. Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin. Tony/Oc Rated M for later chapters
1. Chapter 1: New Flavors

**Taste of Apples**

**Summary:**

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

**Author's Note:**

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter One  
**New Flavors

* * *

When people look at me, what do they see? They see a petite, ebony-haired, twenty-year-old woman. They see black skinny jeans with blue and green intertwined glow-stick bracelets dangling from the belt loops and resting against the back of my thighs. They see an electric-blue halter top thrown over a black, long-sleeved mesh top. They see the array of quarter-inch thin pigtails, looped braids and neon-green streaks. They don't see an accomplished artist, they see a freak, or very out-of-this-world person.

What they don't see are things far to difficult to explain. They don't know that even their whispers carry a flavor that dances along my taste buds. They don't know that metallic-shaded colors dance through my mind and visually with every musical note played. They don't see how a simple brush of their arm sends screams or hums along my nerves. They don't know how difficult it is to try and concentrate through all of these difficulties.

My name is Lexi Roux, I am twenty years of age and I have Synethesia; a mix-up of some of the sensory receptors.

"Miss Roux, we have arrived."

I try not to flinch as the sweet flavor of peaches trickles along my senses, and I give a slight smile, "Thank you, sir."

Getting up from the chair, I make my way through the cabin of the plane, gathering my bag as I go. Finally with my feet firmly planted on the ground, I damn near yelp at the sight of military jets. Where the hell did they bring me?

"Lexi?"

My eyes slide shut as I reflexively swallow as the taste of ripe, and slightly sour, grapes slides over my taste buds. Not one of my favorite flavors, but this particular flavor causes a soft smile to form on my lips, and I open my eyes to stare at a stern-looking woman. I can see her shock at my...uh...changes, but hey, it is my prerogative as an artist, right?

"_Tante Maria_!" I greet, not used to seeing her dressed in uniformed blue and looking so strict.

Before I can react, I groan as a delicate hum travels along the nerves of my skin as the woman is quick to embrace me, "Oh thank goodness you are alright. You are alright, right?"

I giggle as I pull out of her grasp, "I'm as good as I can ever be, _Tante_. I will admit though, this is not what I was expecting when you said that I'd be coming to your base of operation. Tell me, this thing is in the water, or something?"

"No. This is the Helicarrier and it is actually in the sky," she replies as she motions toward some men to take my things, before looping her arm with mine and pulling me along, "This base if constantly in motion and only select-few people know of its location at all times."

"Quite impressive, _Tante_," I say as I am ushered down the metallic halls. "Not quite sure how long it will take for me to grow restless stuck in the sky, but impressive nonetheless."

"Yes, well, Director Fury would like to ask you a few questions about what happened," my Tante says, her grape-flavored voice softening.

The smile on my lips fades slightly, but I nod slowly, never having been good with meeting new people. New people meant learning new flavors. Tasting so many flavors at once tends to send my mind in a whirlwind.

Tante Maria ushers me into a large, open room, a round conference table placed in the center of the room. Instantly, my gaze lands on the slightly intimidating, dark-skinned man standing tall and imposing. A black leather patch covered his right eye and even with the obvious disability, the very air around him screams with authority.

"Director, this is Lexi Roux, my niece. Lexi, this is Director Nick Fury," Tante Maria introduces.

"Miss Roux," I shiver as his voice carries the bitter taste of olives, "I understand that this is not easy for you to talk about, but in order to figure out what happened, I need to ask you some questions."

I nod, taking the chair the man motioned toward, "I understand, sir."

"From what I understand, you were there when the incident happened. Do you remember seeing anything? Do you recall anything that can help identify who was behind the car accident?" Director Fury questions.

Closing my eyes, I think back to the whirlwind of squealing tires, bangs, slams and the heavy scent of smoke. The men that caused the accident had all worn masks of some kind, and they spoke in a language I am not familiar with. Licking my lips, I think back to their voices.

"Liquorice," I murmurs, opening my eyes to see a flicker of confusion in the man's hardened facial features, "They spoke in a language I am unfamiliar with, but one of their voices stood out. Tasted like black liquorice."

Nick Fury turns his gaze on my Tante, who seems to realize what he doesn't, "Oh. I am sorry sir. Lexi suffers from Synethesia. Voices register to her as flavors."

"That quite a unique gift you have, Miss Roux," Director Fury states, and I won't lie saying that I _wasn't_ confused, "You have an ability to recognize people beyond facial recognition. You may not have recognized what language they spoke, but you managed to imprint one of them."

I realize what he is getting at, and I nod, "So, you want me to keep my ears open, so to speak? See if the flavor comes by me again?"

"Precisely."

"Director Fury!" Tante Maria exclaims, "You cannot send her out by herself. If they realize they left a witness, they will come back for her. She is not a trained field agent."

"_Tante_, I want to do this," I state, causing her to turn to me out of shock, "_Mon famille_, they are dead because of these men. I am not sure why, but if there is anything I can do to help being them to justice, I want to help."

"She can stay with the team. At the moment, the only people at the Tower are Doctor Banner and Captain Rogers," Director's bitter-tasting voice informs, before calling into some communicator for this...Captain Rogers to come to the conference room. "Captain Rogers is going to take you back to the Tower and help you get settled in. If there is anything you are in need of, inform your Aunt and we will do whatever we can to help." Tante Maria seems surprised by Fury's offer, but the man continues, "Your parents had been the best field agent pair S.H.I.E.L.D. had to offer."

Despite the bitter-taste of olives dancing along my tongue, I smile softly at the intimidating man, "Thank you, Director Fury."

A firm knock sounds on the door before it opens. Glancing away from the director, I see a young, golden-haired man entering the room. He stands an entire foot taller than my own short stature. Everything about him seemed to be strength oriented. From the muscles along his broad shoulders to the taut muscles along his torso, he is definitely a handsome man. His blue eyes meet my own gold-flecked green and he seems to stand straighter.

"Ah, Captain Rogers. This is Lexi Roux, Agent Hill's niece, and she will be staying at the Tower with you and the team until further notice," Director Fury informs firmly. "Miss Roux, this is Captain Steve Rogers."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Roux," Captain Rogers greets, a warm glint in his eyes and I inwardly shudder as the sweet-spicy taste of pumpkin pie fills my sense.

An awkward smile tugs at my lips as I glance away from his extended hand, "It's nice to meet you as well, Captain Rogers, but I am not...uh...a big fan of touching people."

Instead of being offended, his lips form in a soft smile as he nods, "Please, call me Steve."

"_D'accord_," I respond, seeing his eyes gleam in confusion, so I translate, "Agreed. As long as you call me Lexi. Miss Roux makes me feel younger than I am."

The slightly awkwardness of the meeting fades as his grin becomes more genuine, "As you wish, M- Lexi."

"We will have a charter plane drop you off and Captain Rogers will get you settled into the Tower," Director Fury states, and I lick my lips, trying to get rid of the bitter olive-flavor in my mouth.

Within minutes, I watch as the stairs to the charter plane descend and turn to face my Tante. Immediately, I tense as the hum of her embrace travels along the expanse of my senses, and I close my eyes, memorizing the sensation. Her hands grip my shoulders carefully as she pulls away from the hug.

"Don't be afraid to call me if anything comes up," she murmurs gently, her grape-flavored voice flooding my senses.

"_Merci, Tante Maria_," I reply, giving a soft smile, "but do not worry. I am sure Steve is more than hospitable."

My Tante nods, grinning as she presses a gentle kiss on my brow and I shake my head, trying to brush away the subtle hum against my face. Giving a final wave, I follow Steve up the steps and settle into one of the seats.

"You and Agent Hill seem very close," Steve comments after the plane takes off.

Smiling as I nod, I say, "_Ma tante_ is one of the few relatives that was never bothered by my...sense of self-expression," I motion toward the obvious, outlandish attire I am wearing, "Most of _ma famille_ think art is not productive or a logical choice for a career."

"You are an artist?" he asks, his pumpkin-pie voice full of surprise.

"_Oui_. I just graduated from _Universite Paris Sorbonne_, a distenguished art college in Paris, France," I smile at the sight of his blue eyes widening in shock, "_Oui_, I am young, but I have been in several art-based curricular academies and graduated when I was sixteen. I've spent the past _quatre années_ (four years) attending University in Paris, wanting to experience all that I could before graduating."

"That's quite impressive for someone so young, if you don't mind me saying. Sketching is a hobby of my own," he comments.

I blink, before realize he is trying to make this meeting more comfortable for me, "I enjoy sketching as well. Do you prefer black and white? Or do you use color?"

"I usually just sketch in pencil. What about you?"

Digging into my single-strap art messenger bag, I pull out my sketch pad before flipping it open to my most recent one. Dark strokes depict a single female silhouette standing before two headstones. Minute grey dash strokes depict light rainfall, soft grey shading coloring the thick clouds. Against the grey-shading of the headstones, a single crimson rose sits on top of each one. Two pairs of barely visible eyes hide within the grey clouds, one set a soft green, the other a light golden-brown.

"So, you mainly use pencil? What about the color?" he asks, looking over the sketch significantly longer than myself.

"When I sketch, I only ever use color as an emphasis, or a metaphor," I carefully run a finger over the darkened silhouette, "This is my memory of my parents' funeral. I've never been the religious type, but they held firm Christian beliefs."

"I am sorry for your loss," Steve murmurs, his pumpkin-pie flavored voice growing sweeter on my tongue, and I inwardly cringe, a subtle ache forming along my molars.

"Thank you. It...was definitely difficult. While I loved _ma famille_ very much, they were...always busy, always working. I didn't really get the kind of connection most have with their parents, but...it still doesn't make it easy," I say, glancing up from my sketch pad at the sound of the pilot announcing our arrival.

The drive from the airport to what Steve refers to as Avengers Tower had been short and I had not been expecting such a tall structure. The building reminds me of a beacon, as though people can look up and know exactly where they are going and who resides within the building. I find it strange, a bit disconcerting, and yet, an impressive display of architectural design.

Steve, obviously carry the redeeming qualities of a gentlemen, takes my bags and leads me through the glass doors and into the elevator. Steve went on to explain how the Tower had been set up to house the Team, as well as work as a base of operations. Arriving on the housing level, I am reminded of my studio-styled flat back at school. The common area is open, the living room blending into the kitchen and dining area, the areas broken up by door-less arch ways. The most up-to-date entertainment set up fills the living room, while a large, round wooden table acts as a dinner table in the dining area. The kitchen is outfitted with the most advanced appliances, the solid counter-top island acting as a barrier between the kitchen and the dining room, while also serving as a bar-styled table, a few tall stools set underneath the extended lip of the counter.

_"Welcome home, Captain Rogers."_

I blink, startled by the British-accented voice, an odd flavor of a metallic substance filling my senses, and I look around. Tilting my head as I notice Steve and I are the only people in the room, I turn my gaze to the Captain and quirk an eyebrow.

Steve chuckles, "I was a bit startled when I first arrived here as well. The tower has a built-in AI program created exclusively by Stark Industries. Jarvis, this is Lexi Roux. Lexi, Jarvis is the name given to the AI program."

_"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Roux."_

I blink, surprised and impressed, before smiling, "It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Jarvis. So, you kind of play the part of the stereotypical England-bred butler?"

_"Indeed. Unless you prefer me to act in a manner that belies such stereotypical behavior."_

I giggle in response to the AI program's sarcastic, humorous tone, "_Non. Non._ It amuse me greatly."

_"I am pleased that my formulated personality trait amuses you so."_

Giggling once more, I turn to Steve, who seems amused by the banter as well, "So, what room will I be taking during my stay?"

_"Agent Hill called before hand and informed me of us gaining a guest. I took the liberty of setting up a room for Miss Roux. Down the hall, fifth door on the left."_

"Thanks, Jarvis," I reply as Steve leads me down the hall.

The room was scarcely decorated. The four-post bed seemed to be made of a deep cherry-oak. A night stand sat on each side of the bed, a single lamp settled on both. Steve excuses himself after setting down my bags and I am left alone to unpack.

"Hm...now, where is my Ipod?" I hum aloud.

_"Mr. Stark has uploaded my system with a wide assortment of music files. Is there anything in particular you'd like to listen to?"_

Thinking it over, I am in the mood for deep, metallic blue-green, "Um...how about some Classic Rock. Anything from AC/DC to Metallica, maybe throw in some Guns N Roses."

_"As you wish, Miss Roux."_

Thanking the AI program, a dizzying array of metallic blue-green lines dance in my head, like a mental music player visualizer, as AC/DC's 'Back in Black' begins to play. Smiling softly, I softly sing along with the lyrics as I begin unpacking my clothes into the walk-in closet space.

An hour later, I sigh as I put away the last of my things, and I ask Jarvis to turn off the music before I leave the room. Moving down the hall, I catch the aroma of someone cooking. Peering into the kitchen, I spot Steve standing at the stove, another man leaning against the corner, his brown hair a mess. His body didn't carry the same physique as Steve, and I guess that this is the Doctor Director Fury spoke of.

"She seems normal in ever manner. Apparently, she is able to identify one of the people that caused the accident her parents were involved in. Director Fury said she needs to be kept protected at all times," Steve comments, never looking away from the stove.

"Do you think Director Fury is making the right choice bringing her into the Tower?" the other man states and I bite down on my lip as an odd flavor traces over my tongue.

Chilli. Spicy, and yet sweet at the same time. A rare flavor. I've never tasted anything like it. A mixture of different taste brackets is not common, and yet this man's voice indicates both areas.

"I'm not sure. I think Director Fury wanted her to feel comfortable and not cooped up on the helicarrier," Steve replies, his sweet pumpkin pie flavor conflicting against the chilli flavor from the previous man.

Placing a hand to my head, I groan at the differing flavors before silence greets me. Opening my eyes, I smile sheepishly at the sight of both of them openly staring at me. Steve turns away from the stove, grinning warmly in my direction.

"Lexi! I take it you have finished unpacking?" I nod, trying to get a control over my warring senses, "Lexi, this is Doctor Bruce Banner. Bruce, this is Lexi Roux."

"It's nice to meet you. I am sorry for your recent loss," Bruce comments, and I openly flinch at the spicy-sweet quality of his voice, "Are you alright?"

"I am fine. Your voices are killing my senses," I blurt out, blushing hotly at the confused looks, "Sorry. You see, I have what doctors call Synethesia. Voices tend to register as flavors."

"Is this...um...Synethesia the reason you refuse to touch people?" Steve asks, openly curious.

I nod mutely, looking down as my fingers dance with each other due to my nerves, "The sense of touch registers as a sound. Some people carry such a loud touch that I have ended up on the verge of a splitting headache," Neither of them say anything and I blush hotly, shifting in discomfort, "I apologize. It isn't that your voices taste particularly awful, they just...are so different that it's messing with my taste buds."

"How so?" Bruce asks, his light brown eyes twinkling with a deep seeded intelligence.

"Well, Steve's voice tastes like pumpkin pie. Sweet and carries a hint of spice. Your voice tastes like...chilli, spicy with an undertone of sweet. It will take my mind a while to get used to such different flavors," I respond.

"I taste like pumpkin pie?" Steve questions thoughtfully.

I blush, looking down once again, "I've tasted worse than the two of you. One of the men that caused the accident, his voice tasted like black liquorice. I abhor that flavor."

"So, Director Fury is having you play as bait. Outside of the tower, you can pick up on the flavor easily since it's such a definitive flavor, but you are not a trained agent, hence why you will be living with us," Bruce deduces, smiling awkwardly as I turn my gaze on him, "I hope you will not have an serious difficulties after everyone returns from their missions."

"How many people are we talking about?" I ask cautiously.

"Excluding Captain and I, there are four other members of our team. Natasha and Clint are mercenaries, so they are frequently coming and going. Thor splits up his time between here, New Mexico to visit his friends, and Asgard," I quirk an eyebrow, remembering the old Norse Mythology, "and Tony Stark, or Iron Man, is in California on business."

I cringe at the idea of dealing with, all-together, six people, "I'm not going to lie and say it won't be a problem. I might have frequent headaches, but it isn't something to become overly concerned with." Deciding on a change of subject, I peer around Steve's bulky form, "So, Captain Rogers, what's for dinner?"

As I sit, entertained with stories from both men, I begin to learn more about them. Steve, a man cryogenically frozen and a man out of his time for sure. That explains the chivalrous sense of honor and duty. Bruce explains his 'other guy', and I realize that must explain the odd mixture of flavors when it comes to his voice.

Smiling softly to myself as I relax into the bed, rubbing a hand over my stomach, I stare up at the ceiling.

Well, things are definitely going to be interesting.

* * *

**I hope I explained Synethesia in an easily comprehensible manner. The others will most likely be brought in, in the next chapter, as this is really an introductory chapter. I want you to not only get an understanding of her sensory-mix-up, but also they type of personality she has. Lexi is an opinionated, talented young woman, who has a bit of an inferiority complex due to her sensory issues. She is big on self-expression and is generally a happy woman.**

**This will be my first attempt at something more light-hearted, though there will be some serious focal points later in the story.**

**This story is rated M due to the mental projection I have for the story, and there will be some stronger material later.**

**Thank you for reading. Please leave a review!**


	2. Chapter 2: Pucker Up

**Taste of Apples**

**Summary:**

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

**Author's Note:**

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Two  
**Pucker Up

* * *

I have a habit of becoming restless. It isn't so much that I dislike Bruce, or Steve, but the sudden need to get out after being cooped up for three days rose within me. Dressing in a pair of hot-orange leggings and a long-sleeved neon-green tight-fitted mini-dress, I decide to get out of the tower. After slipping on a pair of black ballet flats and grabbing my IPod, I leave my room. Unable to locate Steve, or Bruce, I shrug on a thin leather, short-sleeved half-jacket and place the ear-plug headphones in my ears, pull my art messenger bag over one shoulder before leaving the Tower.

Metallic-red lines dance within my mind as Avenge Sevenfold's 'Seize the Day' starts. Ignoring the subtle change between darker and lighter tints as the song changes its pitch and tempo, I glance around the busy street and a smile forms on my face as I turn on heel and wander aimlessly down the sidewalk. I know I shouldn't be leaving the Tower, and I have no doubt I will be in serious trouble once they figure out I'm gone, but I've never been able to stay in one place for an extended amount of time.

Finding myself in Central Park, I look around various areas before settling on a shady spot beneath the limbs of a tree. Sitting down and crossing my legs, I pull out my sketch pad and three sketching pencils (each a different 'lead' count) as well as my white smudging pencil. Having always sketched people I meet, I begin sketching the profile of Bruce's face. Making sure to capture the roundness of his face, while adding the masculine angular edges, I gain an outline of his face before starting on the subtle detail. Sketching profiles, I often pride myself on picking up the smallest details and transferring them to paper. It isn't easy and it is definitely time-consuming, but as I do it, I feel as though I learn more about a person's character that way.

By the time I've completed Bruce's profile and I manage to get half-way through Steve's profile, a shadow looms in my lighting. Glancing up, I am startled that it is not Bruce, or Steve, standing above me, but a man I have never met. Watching his lips move, I blink before realizing my music was still audible. Yanking the ear-plug headphones from my ears, I blush as the man cocks an eyebrow.

"Um...I'm sorry, but what did you say?" I ask.

A wide grin spreads across the man's face and I feel my face burn brighter. This man is indeed handsome. His dark hair seems at best windblown and unkempt. His hazel-brown eyes gleam with mischief and intelligence. His body his lean, taut with sinewy lines of muscle, compared to Steve and Bruce's more pronounced muscle mass (Steve's way more obvious that Bruce's). I inwardly grant him kudos for the Black Sabbath t-shirt and he doesn't seem particularly out of his element among the other park visitors.

"I don't mean to bother you. I have a friend that is an artist as well, but he never really allows people to see his work. I admit I am mildly curious," he states without prompt, "Might I say, I find what work I see to be fascinating."

I blush once more, swallowing the sour flavor of green apples, taking notice that his gaze never even glances at my sketches, "_Merci_, Sir."

"Ah, French. Language of the romantics, no?" he teases, the grin never leaving his face, "May I sit? I am avoiding returning home for a while and would prefer the company of such an extraordinary artist."

"Of course. My name is Lexi," I say, motioning to the spot off to my side.

"Anthony," he quips without hesitation, "Unfortunately, I am a man of science myself, but I know a great masterpiece when I see it."

"Are you one of those men that gets a kick out of making women uncomfortable?" I question, trying to focus on anything but the apple-flavor puckering my taste buds.

A chuckle leaves his lips, "I don't know. Are you one of those women that gives a man a run for his money?"

"Depends on the amount at stake," I quip, oddly falling into the conversation with ease.

He chuckles once more, "So, tell me, why is a beautiful, young French woman doing at the park by herself?"

"I'm American," I see his eyebrows perk up, "I recently graduated from _Universite Paris Sorbonne_. I lived in France for the past four years."

"Very impressive for a woman so young," he cuts in, and I flash him a look of mild annoyance.

"Yes, well, I am here because I have been staying with a couple of...friends. I tend to grow restless at times and just needed to get out for a bit," I continue, as though he had never spoken. "What about you?"

An odd glint of confusion flickers in his gaze before surprise and recognition follows, and a small smirk tugs along his lips, "I'm a genius. Seriously," he adds after I cock an eyebrow in disbelief, "I graduated from MIT when I was seventeen. I majored in engineering. I like taking things apart and putting them back together in a way that makes them work one-hundred-and-fifty-percent better, if not more so. At the moment, I am trying to engineer a power source that is eco-friendly and self-sustaining."

I smile at the obvious self-pride in his apple-flavored voice, "That's an impressive goal, Anthony."

"Thanks. A lot of people tend to think I am developing these things for my own personal gain or reason, but it's more than that," he pauses, motioning to the pedestrians, "Imagine a world where oil is obsolete. Where vehicles are powered by an energy source cleaner that gas. Imagine being able to power an entire city for a year without running up energy costs. The middle-class civilians can focus on putting their money into more economic resources, like food and purchasing luxury items, instead of becoming in debt over high service bills."

"It would help balance out the economy, while maintaining a pollution-free environment," I muse aloud, seeing a spark of surprise in his eyes, "To be honest, I think the idea and theory is incredible. You would definitely have a political fight on your hand when the time comes. The government practically runs itself on mass-production of energy resources."

"Yes, well, I'm not exactly on the best terms with the government," he remarks, grinning.

A smile tugs at my lips. How odd? A man, I just met, has managed to make me more comfortable in his presence than most strangers. While his voice carries such a sweet-sour flavor, I don't particularly dislike the man himself. His ideals alone are curious and if his goals ever come to life, I feel as though there is hope for our struggling country in the future. He carries a bit of self-righteous arrogance, but I have a feeling it isn't warranted. He is a man that knows what he wants, what he wants to do, and he is refusing to back down simply because people might dislike him.

He's real.

"Lexi!"

The flavor of pumpkin pie pierces through the sour bite of apple and my gaze snaps up at the sight of Steve walking quickly toward me. Glancing at Anthony from the corner of my eye, I watch as his head tilts in a curious manner as he gazes at the Captain with a look of recognition. Steve comes to a stop a few feet in front of me and instead of chewing me out for taking off, his sight lands on my companion.

"Stark? What are you doing here?" Steve demands, "Pepper said you were not due back until the end of the week."

My companion shrugs nonchalantly, "The negotiations were completed just this morning and I wanted to make sure you didn't blow up my kitchen."

I blink, feeling my back straighten. Anthony. Steve referred to him as Stark. Stark as in Stark Industries. As in Tony Stark. I rub at my head, wondering if Anthony even knows who I am.

"So, what's happenin', Cap'n? How are you acquainted with this lovely lady? Meet at an art convention?" the young genius questions teasingly.

A hot blush forms on Steve's cheeks at the insinuation before he shakes his head, "No. This is Lexi Roux," Hazel-brown eyes stares blankly at Steve, "Lexi Roux is the niece of Agent Hill."

"The daughter of the agents that died recently?" I glance off to the side as I feel the engineer look over at me, "Huh? Imagine that. Of all the people. Well, I can't say it isn't a pleasure to meet you, Miss Roux."

I wince, "_S'il vous plaît_, please, just call me Lexi. I...uh...wasn't even aw-"

"Aware of who I am?" the ebony-haired man grins in response, "It's kind of refreshing to meet a person that has no idea who I am. Please, call me Tony."

An awkward smile pulls at my lips and I glance away. Quickly looking over at Steve, I groan at the disapproving glint in his gaze. I respect the hell out of the guy, but let's face it. I'm human. I'm female. I'm the personified rebel with a cause. I mean, look at me. I don't follow the same standard rules and regulations as most people. Hell, I really don't care for it either way. Rules, while placed for the 'safety' of everyone, act as a way to inhibit people from following their instincts.

"I'm...in trouble, aren't I?" I guess, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly as the Captain nods, "_Désolé_," I apologize, "I can't stand being cooped up and didn't know where anyone was."

"You could have been hurt," Steve urges, his features growing stern.

"That's why I stayed in a public place," I respond, motioning to the several people, "I'm not a child, Steve. I am able to take care of myself for a few minutes."

Steve opens his mouth, obviously about to fly into a long-winded speech, but Tony stands up, brushing off his pants, "Ah, lay off of the girl, Old Man. You found her, she's safe, and we can now return to the Tower."

Steve visible swallows his speech and nods stiffly. Man, when this guy is given a mission, he sure gets really...uh...passionate about it. Sighing, I gather my things and slip them back into the bag. Instead of walking back to the Tower, Tony suggests us riding in his car. After Steve mentions he brought his own ride, I visibly cringe at the sight of the motorcycle. It isn't that I am afraid, but they tend to be loud and my eyes can only stand so much bright colors. Following Tony to his glamorous, cherry-red sports car, I slide into the passenger seat. The moment Tony is speeding through the streets, my body snaps tight with tension at the fast pace. AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell' blares an array of metallic greens and blues as the looming buildings pass us by.

Arriving back in the Tower, I suppose Tony is surprised when Bruce greets me with mild worry and relief for my safety before turning to greet him amicably.

_"Welcome back, Sir. Miss Roux, I apologize, but Captain Rogers and Doctor Banner were worried when you went missing, and felt the need to locate your position."_

"It's alright, Jarvis. I understand," I reply, swallowing the metallic-flavor invading my mouth.

"So, you and Jarvis are buddy-buddy, huh?" Tony questions, cocking a curious eyebrow.

"_Oui_, I find him to be most amusing."

"Amusing? You find my AI program to be amusing? How so?" Tony asks.

_"She has insinuated that my personality fits as a British butler, and that it is extremely stereotypical given the circumstance of my programming."_

"Stereotypical? You meet an AI program I developed as a child to be stereotypical?" Tony questions, mildly amused and offended at the same time.

I giggle slightly, shrugging in a sheepish manner, "I can't help it. Most of the time, I respond to him in French because it feels like the pompous thing to do."

_"You believe me to be pompous, Miss Roux?"_

"After requesting, on several occasion, for you to call me Lexi and not by my surname, yet you still refuse to do so in spite of the situation..." I pause briefly in a mocking manner of suspense, "_Oui_, I believe you to be most pompous in this case."

Tony chuckles, slightly surprised by my familiarity with his AI program. A suggestion of dinner causes everyone to agree to meet back in the dining room before we all part ways to freshen up. By the time dinner comes around, I find myself struggling to eat as sweet-sour apples invades my senses. The flavor permeates everything. My food. The air. Tony is charming, loud and never falters for a quick-witted response. Everything about him is open, freely-given and without judgment or favoritism. No. Everything Tony is, from his animated hand gestures to the flavor of his voice, seems to envelope the entire room with an apple-tinged fog.

Groaning, I place a hand to my forehead, "_E__xcusez-moi_, I will be right back."

Stepping into the kitchen area, I rub along the bridge of my nose. How am I supposed to do anything, or even function, when all I can taste is apple? To be honest, I've never really enjoyed the shifts in various flavor. I hate being in crowded areas. I hate going to social functions. I greatly dislike being caught in a debate. The louder, or more passionate, a voice is, the more potent their flavor becomes.

"Are you alright, Lexi?" At the taste of pumpkin pie, I glance up and smile weakly, "Is something bothering you?"

"New flavor to adjust to," I respond lightly, fishing out a bottle of pain medication, "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather you didn't mention my Synethesia. It isn't something I promote freely, and it's a bit of a sensitive topic to talk about."

Steve smiles warmly, "If that's what you wish. Tony might be arrogant, but he won't think less of you."

"Maybe not, but I'd rather the majority of people to be oblivious," I intone, giving him a pointed look.

Steve nods as I knock back a quick swig of water and swallow the capsules. Forcing a grin on my lips, I follow him back into the kitchen. Apologizing briefly, I resume dinner, forcing down every apple-tinged bite.

This...will be more difficult than I first believed.

* * *

**Thanks to all of my Followers and Reviewers for reading and taking the time to do so.**

**To my Anonymous Reviewer: I am very pleased you enjoy the story. Synethesia is a real condition, and while rare, appears in more women then men. The more common versions of it is the visualization of sound (the metallic-visualizer Lexi sees when listening to music) and association of colors to take place of letters (like, P is an orange letter, while R is a red color, slightly confusing as well). I look forward to another review from you and hope you enjoy this chapter as well.**

**watergoddesskasey: Thank you so very much. I am pleased that my story is so...awesome! -lol- I look forward to another review from you as well.**

**Casey210791: Yes, it is different. I was hoping to do something different. I am pleased you like it so much. Thank you.**

**Ravenclaw Slytherin: As always, my dear, even with the same review, I am pleased you enjoy it so.**

**To my Followers: Thank you, each and everyone of you so far.**

**AmetheystRose **  
**LittleMissMia123 **  
**Ravenclaw Slytherin **  
**Shedaisies **  
**asnanime**

**ryosa echizen**

**Thanks again all of you. Please, do leave reviews as well! Until next time!**


	3. Chapter 3: Nectarines and Strawberries

**Taste of Apples**

**Summary:**

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

**Author's Note:**

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Three  
**Nectarines and Strawberries

* * *

Metallic-red bleeds through my mind, a bright angry flush of deep-seeded red (illuminated brightly, but otherwise dark hue) as the angry, spitting lyrics of 'Wait and Bleed' by Slipknot pierced through my eardrums. Having long ago curled up on a chair located on the terrace, my entire focus is trained solely on the heavily detailed sketch of Tony's facial profile. The first three days of being around Tony had been enough to hinder me with a constant, splitting headache. The two days that followed, the headaches had turned to minor pressure every now and then. It has been easier though, over the past four days. I am now able to withstand extended conversations around Tony, with minor, sharp pains due to the pitch of his voice (when he is arguing with Steve, or excited about some break-through).

I find Tony, despite the sour-apple bite of his voice, to be quite charming. It isn't often people, especially men, find my outlandish attire to be anywhere near beautiful. It is nerve-raking to be honest. Despite his 'beautiful mind' thought process, when he is speaking to you, you know you have in undivided attention. He shows no pity toward the difficulties of others, but instead tries to help the person work through them. He is blunt and honest to a fault. He doesn't judge based on first impressions, having stated that first impression are often fake and hides a person's true personality.

_"Miss Roux," _the music cuts out as Jarvis's metal-flavored voice filters along my taste buds, _"I apologize for interrupting, but Captain Rogers and the others would like to see you in the upstairs conference room."_

"Thanks, Jeeves."

_"I assure you, my name is Jarvis, not Jeeves."_

"If the shoe fits," I quip back playfully, grinning as I uncurl myself from the chair and stand up, stretching my arms over my head as I leave the terrace.

_"What a highly illogical thing to say,"_ Jarvis's voice pauses, _"I don't even wear shoes."_

Finding my way into the conference room, my grin fades at the sight of two strangers among Tony and the others. Both were obviously, in a very painstakingly manner, taller than my own petite size. The red-haired woman carried delicate features, her blue-green eyes staring back at me with an overly-assessing glance. Her figure with curvy, but lithe- showing obvious signs of flexibility and fluency in her movements. The man standing next to her, slightly taller but similar in age, carried a slight more upper-body muscular physique (the rest of his figure lean and taut with tightly corded muscles). His hair seems to stand on end, as though he doesn't really bother to tend to it, and was a dark golden-blonde color. His eyes appear to be a startling blue, though a shade or two darker than Steve's.

"Lexi," Steve greets warmly, "This is Agent Natasha Romanoff and Agent Clint Barton. Clint, Tasha, this is Lexi Roux, our house-guest."

Clint greets me with a small, but warm grin, "Nice to meet you, Lexi. The guys have said nothing but good things about you."

"When we find something bad about her, you'll be the first to know," Tony quips.

"Let it go, Stark," Natasha interjects before giving me a slightly tight-lipped smile, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Roux."

It's a fucking fruit salad! I bite back the desperate urge to vomit at the various change of flavors. Natasha's voice, while soft of sound, carries a subtle taste of wild strawberries. Clint's...peaches. My eyebrow twitches. No. Sweeter. Much sweeter than peaches, but of the same variety. Nectarines. Sweet and supple. Throwing both of their flavors and mixing it with the potent sour-pucker flavor of Tony's voice, I can already feel a headache brewing.

"Please, call me Lexi," I say, giving Natasha a pointed look, "and it is nice to meet you both as well. I have heard little of you both, I'm afraid, but what I have heard has all be good."

Both of them seem slightly surprised by my words. The nature of my Synethesia allows me to know people on a slightly personal level. While various people carry common traits with their flavors (i.e. the sourness of Tony and _ma Tant__e_, the sweet-spicy flavors of Bruce and Steve), the individual flavor alone seems to reflect personality traits. Bruce's flavor, due to the 'Other Guy', is the most obvious of a reflection. Steve is pretty much home-bred, boy-next-door-who-you-introduce-to-parents, but his instinctual flip from Steve to Captain America (the soldier) is only slightly less subtle than Bruce. Tony is completely his own person. The sourness of his voice reflect a deep-seeded emptiness buried beneath a more appealing subtle sweet taste (his natural charm and charisma).

So, I smile, despite the fucking fruit salad dancing along my senses, "I have heard through many S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Steve and the others that you two are the agencies best pair of mercenaries."

Natasha refuses to respond, though I'm not surprised. Strawberries, while being revered as one of natures sweetest delicacies, are known to have their own subtle bite of sour. Nectarines, on the other hand, are all around sweet. Deep-seeded, with a hidden pit that is always hollowed out before eaten, but the flavor never falters from its potent sweetness.

"Yeah...well," Clint pauses, obviously not used to such words so often, "We do what we can to make up for things we've done."

My smile softens more, "If I may, what area of your...uh...work," I ask, due to a lack of a better term, "do you specialize in?"

"Marksmen," Clint answers, slowly opening up more, "I prefer a bow and arrow to guns though."

"Clint is one of the best marksmen S.H.I.E.L.D. has to offer. I've never seen him miss a shot," Steve adds, and I watch Clint smirk awkwardly at the praise.

Hm...odd. Clint seems to be a man that would pride himself on his ability, but something...more lingers behind his gaze.

"How about you Natasha? What are you good at?"

Natasha glares slightly, "Killing people."

I blink in shock. Not of her killing people, but for the unwarranted hostility. Perhaps, my questions are of a sensitive nature for her.

"Agent," Tony intones, picking up on the red-head's tone as well, his apple-flavor voice permeating my senses once again, though the warning in his tone is clear as day, "Agent Romanoff is a skilled combat-trained mercenary. She doubles as a spy, as well."

An awkward smile tugs at my lips as I shift in discomfort, "That's impressive, Ms. Romanoff. I'm sure the Team is better due to the addition of your skills."

Mon Dieu! I can't believe the words that just left my lips. I can tell from the slight chuckle from Tony and the sudden hardening of Natasha's features, my words came out the wrong way. I glance away, never having been the type for confrontation.

"Your sarcasm is less than desirable," Natasha quips curtly before turning to Steve, "Alright. We've met the civilian Fury wants us to _babysit_. Can we go get settled in now?"

Receiving a slightly hesitant nod, Natasha turns and leaves the room, with an awkwardly-grinning Clint in tow. I blink. To be honest, meeting a couple of mercenaries could have gone worse. I am instantly thankful for the sleeves of my shirt as a hand gentle rests on my shoulder. Startled at the touch, my gaze snaps up to stare into the light blue eyes of the Captain.

"I apologize for Natasha. She-"

I shake my head, giving a small smile in response, "She reacted in a manner that isn't understandable. I don't like being thought of as someone who needs to be _baby-sat_, but I am not upset."

"Really? Agent Romanoff wasn't exactly being pleasant," Tony points out.

Licking my lips as the sour pucker of his voice hits me once again, I shrug, "I'm not bothered. It would have been strange if she had been so...welcoming instead. I find it hard to believe anyone trained as a mercenary, anyone that lived the life she must have gone through, would be anything less than stand-offish."

Tony and Steve seem surprised, but Bruce's brown eyes gleam with understanding, "You have quite the impressive skills of observation."

"I think of it more as understanding human nature," I answer, "It will most likely take a while for Ms. Romanoff to feel comfortable around me."

After the conversation is over, I leave the three Avengers to debate among themselves and go in search of some coffee. Getting the coffee started, I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose once again. This is definitely not going to be a pleasant experience. I had grown so used to be allowed certain... leeway while at school. I had been allowed to use music as a way to combat the voices of other students. Music simply is easier to process that voices, especially after growing so used to the vocalists of the bands, their flavors registering subtly.

"Fucking apples," I curse under my breath.

"Apples?"

Sweet, sweet Nectarines, I shudder as the heavenly sweet flavor floods over my taste buds, before glancing up at the sight of Clint Barton standing in the arch way of the kitchen area. He doesn't seem as though he is completely comfortable, and despite his slight hesitation on coming to me, I simply cannot dislike, or ignore, the sweetness on my tongue.

I smile softly, "My brain, running too fast for the rest of me to comprehend at times."

Clint grins slightly, "So, your brain has something against apples? Is it all apples, or just...certain ones?"

"No," I respond promptly, "I like apples. One of my favorites actually," I struggle to keep the heat back as it threatens to flood across my cheeks, "It can be an overpowering flavor though, depending on which apple."

Clint nods, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, he accepts my offer of coffee and takes a seat at the counter-top island, "I...want to let you know not to take Tasha's words to heart. It isn't that she doesn't like you, because she does respect the hell out of Agent Hill. Tasha just...doesn't think our team should be watching over a civilian. We don't exactly lead safe lives, and putting you under our care can put you in danger."

As Nectarines tingles along my senses, I soak in his explanation and I nod, "I assure you, I wasn't offended. I wasn't attempting to be sarcastic either. Natasha is a woman that carries a strong sense of duty, from what I hear, and I don't want her to feel obligated to spare my feelings. Hell, I don't want any of you protecting me. I just...really don't have much of a choice at the moment."

"Yeah, well, Tasha and I aren't...used to being around civilians," Clint remarks, before smiling, "So...I like the streaks. Are you one of those Raver-kids?"

I giggle at the insinuation, "No. I like green. I'm an artist, and as such I feel self-expression shouldn't be limited to just my artwork."

"Well, you sure know how to work the individualist front," he states, causing a slight flush to form over my cheeks.

Again. It isn't everyday a person like me gets compliments. I shift, awkwardly. Due to my _condition_, I'm not exactly the most sociable person. I only ever interacted with my dorm-mate and teacher, but beyond that, it has always felt...well...awkward.

"Uh...thanks," I murmur, looking away from his blue gaze, "So, what do you guys do for fun around here?"

"Well, Tony and I have been trying to get the Cap'n up-to-speed on modern-day society, so we sometimes have movie nights. Any preference?"

"I would...prefer a lack of horror movies," I respond, "and I'm not exactly the romance-movie-watcher either. Romantic-comedies maybe, but none of that 'fall hopelessly in love' crap they push on the masses."

"Action flicks?"

I grin widely, feeling the awkwardness fade, "Action flicks. Animated movies. Comedies."

"Favorite movie of all time?" he shoots out suddenly.

"The Nightmare Before Christmas," I retort just as quickly.

Clint's eyebrows knit together, "That stop-animation shit?"

"Hey! I'll have you know, that _shit_ is really time-consuming and for someone to actually make a full-length feature film while doing it, it's an impressive display of artistic prowess and immeasurable imagination. Hell, it took me forever to attempt making a quick short film doing stop-animation. Definitely not an easy task," I argue.

Clint's arm raise as a pathetic attempt of self-innocence, "Hey, to each their own, right?"

"_Oui," _Catching sight of the time, I groan inwardly, "If you don't mind, I should probably head off to bed. Um...it was...nice talking to you, Clint."

"Yeah. You're not so bad either, I suppose," he replies in mock-arrogance.

Giggling slightly, I wave goodbye as I leave the kitchen. Retiring to my room, I immediately gather my sketch pad and work on finishing the finer details of Tony's profile. Slipping in my ear-buds, _'Master of Puppets_' by Metallica pierces through my mind, the sound echoing a dance of metallic-red. Cracking my knuckles, I pick up and pencil, squinting slightly as I begin applying facial hair with dark strokes with the very tip of the pencil point.

* * *

**Alright, that's it for this chapter. A bit shorter than the others, but I felt as though trying to drag it out would only hinder the chapter more. Before I get any flames, I figure Natasha isn't the type to believe the Team is best suited on protecting civilians. What? With the missions they go on, the enemies they make and how public their heroics are. I thought it over, and while Lexi is obviously _not_ offended by her response toward her, Lexi can read people to a certain degree. Not perfectly, but enough to make a decent judgment call of character. I plan on working out a way for Natasha and Lexi to grow close, but unlike Clint, who is straight-forward, I've always felt that Natasha watches people more than joining in conversations. She isn't quick to befriend people, due to her history.**

**Now..for my awesome reviewers!**

**Ravenclaw Slytherin: Thanks again!**

**Carly Carnations: Man, are you a mind-reader or something? When I finished the last chapter, I was already beginning to process bringing Clint and Natasha into the story for this chapter. Thank you very much. Your praises are blush-worthy, but alas, it is difficult to get such a response from myself.**

**watergoddesskasey: -lol- I am very pleased you are enjoying the story so much. Yes, trying to put a decent adjective toward her Synethesia is difficult, without trying to sound negative. Lexi does not see it as a negative, but it does pose problems with her on a social level, hence why she sarcastically refers to is as a 'condition'. No biggy! Thank you!**

**yourshowingoffagain: I must say, to know that you aren't a huge fan of OC stories, but had taken the time to read my own, makes me quite proud. Yet another blush-worthy praise. Thank you. I too adore Pepper, but for my story to fall together she is more friend/sibling to Tony. I don't want to play her out like the bad-guy, like many stories I've read, because Pepper is too...freaking nice! -lol- Anyway, thank you for your review, it did make me smile!**

**katielee97: I am very glad you are enjoying it thus far. Thanks for reviewing!**

**To my adorable selection of (mostly) shy followers, thank you! You know of who you are! I appreciate the silent kudos to the story! **

**Until next time!**


	4. Chapter 4: Cocoa Adonis

**Taste of Apples**

**Summary:**

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

**Author's Note:**

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Four  
**Cocoa Adonis

* * *

Today is probably the slowest day of my life, thus far. Everyone, with the exception of Tony, had gone off on a mission of some kind. Tony had elected to remain behind to keep an eye on me, though I doubt he has left his workshop. I admire his dedication to his work (on both his Iron Man suit and his company's inventions). Over the last few days, I managed to talk more with Clint, and I can't help but be completely drawn to him.

Not romantically, of course. I have seen the deep level of respect and adoration he carries silently for Natasha (who still has yet to speak to me often). He feels...familiar. He is so troubled by his past deeds, and yet he carries such a deep passion in what he does that I am intrigued by his stories. We argue over movies and debate over music (both of us lean toward the Rock genre). He feels like..._famille_. I never had any siblings. Never connected with my parents, though I do still love them. Clint reminds me of a person that remains passionate in his loyalty to his friends.

I respect that more than anything.

I've managed to sketch a profile of each team member, and oddly enough, Natasha had been my favorite subject of study. Such soft, beautiful features, hardened through duty and pain. Stoic features and monotonous voice, barely able to hide the inner anguish deep within her eyes. She is a beautifully wrapped enigma, encased in a shroud of cynicism and hard facts. She is...personified Atlas. The one who carries so much on her shoulders. The one that follows duty over heart.

It's my favorite profile, yet the hardest to stomach.

_"Miss Roux, lunch is ready."_

I smile softly as I pull away from my thoughts, Jarvis's familiar flavor coating my senses, "Thanks, Jarvis."

Standing up from my bed, I smooth out the fabric of my tight-fitted long-sleeved shirt, before leaving the room. Stalking down the halls, inwardly humming a familiar tune, I enter the dining area.

"Your newest evolution of your Man of Iron suit is quite impressive, my friend."

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, eyes slamming shut. The rich, decadent flavor of chocolate. No. Melted chocolate. No. I roll my tongue along my mouth. Worse, it's...hot chocolate. Rich, savory and warming. The voice itself is rich with accent, deep and booming with pleasure and excitement. Who ever spoke, is a man of rich taste and aristocratic behaviors. Shakespearean dialogue with a trace of old, European accent. Not Old English, but deeper, richer. Like...Viking?

Shaking away the senses, I heave a heavy sigh before entering the kitchen. A large, hulking figure sits at the island, a broad grin stretched across such angular features. Gold spun from his scalp, brushing over his shoulders, and I urged to feel the silky texture. Even while seated, the man seems to be quite tall, probably the tallest. His broad, muscular form put even Steve to shame. Light blue eyes, as though he had been bestowed the color of the sky on a sunny, cloudless day, gleam with pride, loyalty and curiosity.

Wait...eyes?

I snap out of my thoughts to see both Tony and the blonde man staring at me, the blonde's head tilted as though a curious kitten. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stop the grin at the thought of comparing this man to a kitten.

"You must be the great Lady Lexi, Tony has spoken of," the rich, savory voice booms in greeting.

Oh. Of course. I had forgotten Steve spoke of another team member.

"Lexi, this walking Goldilocks is Thor," the sour-bite of Tony's voice pierces through the rich flavor of the prior voice, "Thor, this is our _ward, _Lexi."

I roll my eyes. Ever since the minor incident with Natasha, Tony had become snarky toward the reference of me needing to be baby-sat. Tony and Clint both had taken up the idea of showing me around New York. Everyday, for a few hours, one of them would accompany me on a walk. Both understood my hesitance on accepting the Avengers's protection.

"It's nice to meet you, Thor. Any relation to the Norse God of Thunder?" I question, curiously as I accept the plate of food Tony slides over to me.

Nothing in this world beats a club sandwich.

"I am he," Thor comments, the bacon and turkey flavor in my mouth coating with chocolate, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lexi. I have heard many details about you."

"Hopefully they are words of appraisal," I intone, hearing Tony chuckle as I mock Thor's speech, and I grin, "Sorry. Accents like your's make me want to try it out myself."

"I take no offense. The highest form of flattery comes from those who mock others," Thor responds, the broad grin stretching across his features.

I giggle. Oh. He is good. I think I'm going to like this guy.

"I, as well, have always thought it to be that way. Though, people are often to take the words in a manner that belies their meaning," I quip playfully.

The booming laugh from the God before me forces a flood of chocolate-flavor down my throat, and I laugh to disguise the cough, "_Désolé, mon ami_, it is nice to meet you, Thor. I hope it is not to bold of me to ask, but would you be a _modèle_ for me?" Blonde brows shoot up in slight confusion, "I am an artist and I tend to draw people I come to meet. I have drawn a portrait profile of every team member thus far."

"A great honor it would be, then. I have heard from the Captain of the Americas that you are a brilliant artist," Thor responds in kind.

A hot flush spreads across my cheeks, but Tony leans forward, "Wait a sec. You've drawn everyone? What about me?" I nod, blushing even more at the memory of spending so much time on the finer details of Tony's features, "Can I see it?"

"Um..." I shift, glancing away from the playful and pleading light brown eyes, "I suppose you can."

Finishing off my last bite, I return to my room to collect my sketch pad. Finding my way back to the kitchen, I place it on the counter top and watch as Tony instantly opens it. Various black and white sketches of my roommate from school in all manners of natural pose decorate the first few pages. I smile softly at the sight of the dark brown irises colored in around the pupils. Tony seems to become engrossed within the portraits as he comes to the team. He flips pass everyone's profile sketches and comes to several others I've done during my time here. Pictures of Steve, focused on his own drawings, blue eyes heavy with concentration. Of Bruce giving a crooked smile while looking off to the side, mild amusement filling brown eyes. Of Clint sprawled across the sofa, sleeping peacefully. Of Natasha, leaning against a wall, hardened features with pain-filled blue-green eyes. Of himself, laughing aloud as he lounges across a chair, a white-blue coloring dancing across the center of his chest.

Tony clears his throat, glancing up as he comes to a blank page, "You are very talented."

I blush, looking away from the praise, "Thank you."

"I agree with Tony," Thor states, having looked at them over the genius's shoulder, "You have a way with pulling people into the portraits, as though they will become animated at any moment. It is an impressive gift you have, Lady Lexi."

I can feel my blush deepen, "I have a habit of paying attention to detail. I feel as though every scar, every blemish, every tainted feature someone carries has a story behind it."

"It would be an honor to be a subject of study for you," the Viking God adds, the broad grin still across his features.

_"I'd hate to interrupt the conversation, Sir, Master Odinson, Miss. Roux, but Miss. Roux's phone has received a voicemail."_

Swallowing the nervous lump, I flash the two men a weak smile before returning to my room. Leaning against the closed door, I rub the bridge of my nose. Chocolate and apples. A delicious combination, but carries such a sickeningly-sweet taste. To have watched Tony observe my work with such dedicated focus had been nerve-racking. Art is personal. It is emotional and free. It is...private and intimate.

Opening my eyes, I push away from the door and as I snatch my phone off of the nightstand I turn on point and allow my body to fall back. Landing on the soft mattress below, I inhale deeply before staring at the ceiling. Lifting the phone straight up, I flip it open to gaze at the LCD screen. _J. Mason._

_"Bonjour, ma chère, I am calling with great news. Non, fantastique news. Monsieur André informed moi that my artwork, and that of your's, is going to be presented in a showcase next month."_

I roll my eyes as the lemon-lime flavored voice greets my ears, "Has anyone ever told you, you talk too much? _Beaucoup trop, mon ami_. You know I can't just fly back over to Paris."

_"Oui, I speak way too much, way too fast, non? Now, now, ma__ chère,_ _I never said the showcase is being held in Paris. Non, en fait, the showcase is to be held in the Great American city of New York."_

__I sit upright, eyes wide, "You are going to be in New York?"

_"Oui. I am hoping it will be alright if I see you next month."_

"Like I can refuse," I quip, my voice growing softer, "Look, I'm afraid I must go for now, but count me in. I don't care if I have to drag every single one of these people watching me to it. You can tell _Monsieur André _that I will definitely be there."

_"Oui, __ma chère, I bid you adieu for now."_

"_Au revoir_," I say before hanging up.

A showcase. A dear friend. Something familiar. Who do I take? Steve and Bruce will be out of place among the socialites. Natasha could work, yet I am sure she would not be pleased to have to babysit me. I giggle at the idea of Thor being there. I am sure he has experience with art, but he would undoubtedly make people uncomfortable; due to his height and muscular figure. So, that leaves Tony and Clint.

Standing up from the bed, I toss my phone back to its original place before leaving the room. Locating Tony in his workshop, I hesitate, standing outside of the glass doors as I watch his distant figure move around the room. With a hope that I am not interrupting anything, I knock on the glass door. Light brown eyes gleam curiously as the young philanthropist makes his way to the door, opening it with a flourish.

"Something wrong, Lexi?" he questions.

Licking my lips, a hot flush floods across my cheekbones, "Oh. Um, my old roommate called me. He...he said that my artwork done for school has been selected to appear in a showcase next month. Apparently, it's going to be held here in New York, and I was...well, I...uh," I glance down at the floor, mumbling out the rest of the words in a bad mixture of French slang and barely audible English.

"I'm sorry? What was that last part?" Tony teases.

"I-wanted-to-know-if-you'd-go-with-me!" I blurt out in a quick mesh up of words, gaining a cocked eyebrow in response that causes me to sigh, "I wanted to know if you'd go with me. It isn't really something I want to miss, but I know I won't be able to go alone."

A bright smile forms on Tony's face, "So, you want me to be your bodyguard and your escort?"

"Please," I intone, nodding my head, "If it's not too much to ask. I know you are a busy man."

"Well, I suppose I can pencil you in."

I can't even begin to hold back the grin that spreads across my lips, "Thank you, Tony. You have no idea what this means to me."

Before I attempt to make a fool out of myself, I turn on heel before walking off. Gathering my art supplies, I find Thor sitting in the living room, watching television with the same level of dazed focus as a kid watching Spongebob. No. Scratch that. He _is_ watching Spongebob with the same dazed focus as a kid. I smother a giggle back as I sit down and watch as delight and humor dances across the strong face. Several minutes into sketching out the major details of his face, I begin to focus on the minor details, and it is then that it hits me.

Thor is the epitome of Adonis. Tall. Carved out of freaking marble. Without physical faults. As though the ancient Gods had taken every piece of perfection and placed it into one human being. To put it simple.

He's walking perfection.

It takes a while, but soon I am nearly finished when the team comes back. Watching as they greet Thor, I slip out of the room and back into my own bedroom. Laying out on my bed, I inwardly curse myself. I should have asked Clint. I have a feeling I would be less awkward around Clint than I would Tony. Not that Tony would be a bad escort, or bodyguard, I just don't understand why I get so...twisted around the genius. Though, inviting Clint would cause confusion, insinuations and most likely my death-by-dagger-glares by Agent Romanoff herself.

Closing my eyes, I silently wish things could be normal.

* * *

**Alright, that is the last arrival from the team. I hope the flavor is befitting of Thor's personality.**

**katielee97: No, no Clint/Lexi romance. I adore Clint's character, the anguish Renner depicts after Hawkeye gains control of his mind and body again I felt was so...beautiful. I can't help but love the broken ones. Yes, Lexi gets into some action, but I'm focused on having Lexi make a better connection with the team. Thank you!**

**Ali: I was wondering when I'd hear from you. I'm glad you enjoy it thus far!**

**Creatividadqueamo: Awww...that means so much to me! I am pleased you have taken a liking to the story, despite your dislike of OC's. Thank you!**

** .Uchiha: I know. I was in the middle of imagining Tony, Clint and Natasha in the same room, and with their flavors, as I was figuring a way to describe them, I was like 'Mother of God, it would be a freaking fruit salad'. I laughed at myself for a good minute or two and figure, hey, why not! I'm very pleased you are enjoying it.**

**Ravenclaw Slytherin: YAY! I HAVE ACHIEVED THE ULTIMATE GOAL! -lol- Sorry. I love all of your reviews, but I was curious if you ever typed anything more. I have successfully managed to pry open that mouth (or fingers I suppose) of your's. Thank for your review. Yes, I thought I caught Clint in the right light.**

**Cutepenname: You are the second person to read my mind before I even start on a chapter. I hope, as biased as you are, that you enjoy my description of Thor.**

**watergoddesskasey: I'm not even going to try to go around this. 'AWESOME-tastic' made me laugh. I am pleased you enjoy it so much.**

**TO THE SILENT 'FOLLOWERS' OF MY STORY. You...my minions (oh come on, when I think followers, I think evil minions...) make me very happy as well. Quiet. Hope to pry a review from some of you at some point, but you still please me greatly (sounded kind of dirty).**

**Thank you all, very much.**

**Who do you want to see Lexi interact with more? Let me know!**

**Until Next Time...**


	5. Chapter 5: Flavorless

**Taste of Apples**

**Summary:**

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

**Author's Note:**

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Five  
**Flavorless

* * *

I dreamt of pain and fear. Of the stench of burnt rubber. Of the loud crash and crinkles. Of the nauseatingly bitter taste of black liquorice. Waking up in the dead of night, I stumble from my bed, tripping over the tangled mess of sheets around my ankles. The remnant of the bitter flavor causes me to shudder in disgust as I dig through my art messenger bag. Finding the object of my desperate desire, I grab it before moving out of the room. As silent as possible, I move through the halls of the housing level and enter the kitchen. Heating up a mug of milk, I add a dollop of honey and stir it carefully before making my way on the terrace. Curling up on the chair, I take a long, drawn-out sip before setting it on the table. Lifting up the small, rectangular paper-made box, I extract one of the twenty white, tobacco-filled tubes. Lighting the end, I inhale deeply as a rush of thick smoke flows over my senses.

It isn't healthy. I know. A bad habit. It is a habit I find...helpful. In the rare chances that I wasn't able to get away from large groups of people, I had taken up smoking to cancel out the effects of their voices. Difficult flavors, such as the liquorice, always leaves a heavy residue of passing flavor on my tongue and it sickens me. As unhealthy as cigarettes are, the flavor of burnt tobacco and smoke permeates thicker than Tony's sour-bite.

Finishing the cigarette, I curl into the chair once again, shivering. Not just from the exposure of my bare arms, but the heavy silence filling the air around me. I hate silence. Ironic isn't it? Having Synethesia, I have become so used to tasting flavors, seeing colors or feeling sounds that silence is...flavorless, colorless and without the sound of feeling. Silence is enveloping, surrounding everything and leaving a void of sensory intrusion along my senses. It makes me weary, nervous, twitchy and paranoid. As though something is going to jump out at any given moment and slam my senses into overdrive.

"You should be asleep."

I jump, flinching as sweet wild strawberries fills my senses. That is exactly what I hate about silence. Once I grow used to the silence, something breaks it and I am forced to taste, see, or feel something so suddenly that it hurts. Realizing who spoke, I glance over my shoulder to gaze into the blue-green eyes of the beautiful, red-haired enigma. My reactionary blush from not only being caught unaware, but the delicate flavor of her voice, causes me to shift slightly and I look away.

"I hope I did not wake you up," I say softly, "Though, I doubt I will be getting any sleep for the rest of the night."

"I heard a thump come from one of the rooms and decided to investigate," she state, the strawberry flavor of her voice calm and collected as always, "When I noticed you were not in your room, I went searching for you in hopes someone didn't get pass Jarvis's security."

I give her a weak, slightly nervous smile, "_Merci_, Ms. Romanoff. I apologize for waking you up. I'm afraid I had a nightmare."

"A nightmare?" she questions, disbelief of my words coating her flavor, "May I ask what you could have nightmares of?"

"The accident," I reply without hesitation and I blush, looking down, "Just...sensations more than anything. I had never been so scared in my life, though I'm sure you have dealt with worse, but...losing everything I am comfortable around it scares me more than anything."

The flavorless silence returns and I shift nervously. Feeling the twitchy nerves of my fingers itching to counter the lack of flavor, my fingers curl into a fist.

"You do not touch people," Strawberries filters through the void of sensation and I glance up, "I've watched you interact with everyone, and you avoid touch at all cost."

"I do. People are not aware of how...painful touch can be. I've experienced enough of it to know when to avoid it," I answer, flushing slightly, "_Ma Tante_ Maria, she is one of two people that take heed when touching people, me specifically."

"Is that why you are not so broken up over the death of your parents? Did they...hurt you?"

I shrug, unsure of how to respond, "Not intentionally. They weren't around enough to understand a lot of the things I went through. They might have been the agency's best field pair, but they were not the best parents. Though, I could have had worse."

Sighing as silence takes over once again, I turn my gaze to the young mercenary once more, "I'm afraid I am confused. I know that you do not care for me very much, so why is it you are asking so many personal questions?"

"It isn't that I don't care for you. I just do not see why you must be under our protection."

"_Ma Tante_probably informed Director Fury that I am not fond of heights. I am able to identify one of the men responsible for my parents' death and being stuck on a helicarrier, I probably would have gone and thrown myself over board," I watch her eyebrow twitch, "Director Fury placed me with you guys because while I need to be visible in order to play bait for the men who killed my parents, I am still only a civilian." I see a frown flicker in her gaze, "_Désolé_, I know that you are not...pleased with needing to keep an eye on me."

"It isn't that. I believe we are not the best ideal group to be protecting someone," she replies curtly.

I nod in understand, "_Oui_, that much I figured out. I appreciate the sentiment of you caring enough for my well-being," Her eyes widen minutely, "Your words say otherwise most of the time, but if you really did not care, you would not be watching me all of the time."

"You are too observant for a civilian."

I snort, "I'm an artist. It's in the job description to be observant of one's surroundings."

A small twitch tugs are the edge of her lips, "You're alright, Miss. Roux. I will leave you to yourself."

"Good night, Ms. Romanoff," I say softly, with a small smile of my own.

"Natasha."

"Lexi," I quip as she turns and walks away.

Again, surrounded by silence, I glance up at the heavily veiled stars. I miss seeing them so bright. I shudder at the void within my senses and I lift up another cigarette, lighting it once more and the emptiness fades with each inhale of the thick smoke.

As the sun breaks over the horizon, I decide to make breakfast for everyone. Figuring in the estimated amount (I bet Thor as a ravenous hunger), I enter the kitchen. Pulling out various ingredients, I call out to Jarvis to play some music. Specifically some Hollywood Undead.

_If you got jack in your cup,  
Go raise it up, go raise it up, go raise it up  
If you ain't got enough,  
Go fill it up, Go fill it up, go fill it up_

The purple-orange color associated with hip-hop music causes me to smile softly as 'Comin' in Hot' fills the air. Feeling the heavy bass flow through my body and invade my senses, I set out to make breakfast as I sway and bounce in time with the music as I move around the kitchen.

_I'm gonna chase this whiskey with Patrón,  
I wanna girl on my lap and a jägerbomb;  
I'm comin' in hot, you heard me  
And I'ma make it rain on the girl who serves me  
I drink a fifth of vodka till it's gone  
And if it feels so good then it can't be wrong  
I'm comin' in hot, you heard me  
And we be taking shots and if not you nerdy_

As the hip-hop sound changes into the heavier Rock sound of 'Tendencies' the color shifts to metallic-red, I busy myself making a batch of scrambled eggs, a plateful of bacon and sausage, as well as a large stack of pancakes and waffles. I may not be the most coordinated person in the world, but cooking is one thing I've always enjoyed doing. It takes me back to the weekend mornings, my roommate and I moving around each other in the kitchen of our dorm apartment as we cook. I miss it, to be honest. I miss our weekend breakfast meals. I miss our frequent concert visits. I miss the general chaos that befits my dear friend.

"Well, this is a welcomed sight this early in the morning."

The sour-apple bite voice catches me off guard mid-lyric and I whirl around to stare at Tony, who grins from his spot leaning against the arch way. A burning flush tinges my cheeks, and I shift nervously at the look of appraisal.

"Please, don't stop on my account."

My blush burns darker and I rub at the back of my neck nervously, "Sorry. I am so used to making breakfast on the weekends. My roommate and I would dance and sing, no matter how off-key he gets, while making breakfast in the mornings."

"You miss him," The apple-bite statement causes me to nod as I lick my lips, "Tell me about him."

"Why?"

"You obviously miss your friend. Sometimes, talking about them, helps."

I sigh, "Jacques Mason, or Jacquot as I call him, is a talented painter. He has a deep love for life and expresses it everyday. It is rare that he ever goes without a smile on his face. We frequently attended whatever Rock concerts we could. We argued and had movie nights. We cooked breakfast every Saturday and Sunday morning."

"Sounds like you and Legolas."

I can't help the giggle that leaves my lips at Clint's nickname, "It's one of the reasons I feel comfortable around Clint. He reminds me of Jacquot so much, and yet...they are so different. Jacquot came from a wealthy, encouraging and large family. He had five brothers, three sisters and was one of the middle children. He prides himself on being the only artist among his siblings. He knew the love of a _famille_, a love I knew of only at a distance."

The silence that had fallen between us is broken as Clint and Natasha enter the kitchen. Soon, Steve, Bruce and an overly joyful Thor follow the two mercenaries. Before long, I find myself sitting silently at the table, listening as their flavors contrast, and for the first time since I had come to the Tower, I find myself at ease.

The ever-present void of silence is broken and it causes me to smile as I shovel a bite of syrup-coated pancake in my mouth.

* * *

**A treat for my awesome readers! Until next time!**


	6. Chapter 6: Champagne Hums

**Taste of Apples**

**Summary:**

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

**Author's Note:**

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Six  
**Champagne Hums

* * *

Staring at my reflection, I feel only slightly out of place. I can't quite put my finger on why. My hair, free from its looped braids and thin ponytails, flows delicately to brush over my shoulders. I had decided to take my green streaks in my hair and curled them into tightly coiled curls, allowing them to rest on top of the rest of my straight hair. I outlined my hazel-flecked green eyes with my usual black eyeliner, but applied it lighter than usual. I couldn't help but use the dark green-grey eye shadow smudged softly along my eyelids. A simple coat of clear lip gloss completes my, otherwise, lighter than usual make-up.

The knee-length deep emerald, halter-styled dress hugs my slim curves, and I shift, watching the flared skirt twirl easily with the movement. The deep grey, four-inch thick ribbon wrapped beneath the bust of the dress ties delicately against the middle of my back and matches the strapped heels, a single thick strap wrapped just above my ankles. It is a relatively simplistic dress, and very different from my usual attire, but not uncomfortable.

So, why do I feel out of place?

Catching sight of the time, I grab the dark grey clutch and make my way out of my room. Appearing in the living room, a hot blush spreads across my face instantly at the sight of everyone glancing over. Seeing various eyes widen and I have a feeling Clint's jaw just ticked stubbornly.

"No way are you going to some gala dressed like that, with Stark," Clint belts out.

Confused, I glance down, wondering what's wrong with how I'm dressed, "Why? Does it look bad?"

Clint's eyes widen slightly, "What? No. You look fine."

"Then what's wrong with my dress?" I ask.

Natasha nudges Clint, giving him some kind of pointed look, causing whatever Clint had been ready to say to catch in his throat, before she turns back to me, "Nothing is wrong with you or the dress. You look beautiful."

Despite the monotony of her tone, I smile at her praise, "Thank you, Natasha."

"Aye. Your beauty is breath-taking, Lady Lexi," Thor states, his features bright as usual.

I giggle, still amazed by the beauty of his speech, "Thank you. Where's Tony? We're going to be late if we don't leave soon."

"He'll probably be out here in a moment. He had a call from Pepper," Steve comments, giving me a small, soft smile, though his eyes gleam with worry.

I nod, feeling my nerves grow strained once more. I hate waiting. Glancing over at Bruce, I give him a small smile of my own, as Natasha and Clint talk in extremely hushed voices.

"Bruce," I greet, standing next to him.

"You do look beautiful, Lexi. Are you sure you are going to be alright?" Cocking an eyebrow at his question, he glances around before continuing, "With your...senses, do you think you will not become overwhelmed by everyone there?"

The confusion on my face melts into understanding as I realize he is concerned, "I will be fine, Bruce. Jacquot would not have invited me if he believed I couldn't handle it. Any idea what has Clint so...aggressive?"

"Tony Stark is known for his...uh...playboy ways. I believe Clint views you as a surrogate sister and does not want you alone with Tony in such an intimate setting," Bruce responds intellectual as always.

A great sense of understand dawns on me and my heart flutters at the idea of Clint being so worried. I may have lived a life of relative peace until recently, but I haven't been on the receiving end of many people's devotion.

"I've been around Tony alone several times, and he has been nothing but respectful to be honest. Maybe a bit teasing and sometimes patronizing, but nothing more," I state, watching as Clint heaves a sigh at whatever Natasha just said to him.

"To be honest, none of us have ever seen you dressed so...formal. I know I was slightly caught of guard by the change you made," Bruce quips.

Is it bad that I am absolutely comfortable around this man? I've heard stories of the 'Other Guy', but for some reason, I can't find it in me to fear this brilliant man. He carries no biased opinion. Everything is always based on fact, much like Natasha. He carries a heavy sense of inner peace that I am surprised a man like him can lose control with such ease.

"Alright, I have arrived. Everyone c-"

The sudden disappearance of the apple flavor on my tongue causes me to look away from Bruce and I blush at the surprise coating Tony's light-brown eyes. He really is a handsome man. His black-and-white suit looks as though it had just been created for him, fitting his figure perfectly while giving him a classic, aristocratic appearance. He seems to snap out of his silence and a warm smile pulls at his lips before he walks closer.

"You, my dearest Lexi, look exquisite," his apple-flavored voice coated with honesty, before he extends his hand, a single, deep burgundy rose clasped gently in his hand, "For you."

I glance down, nervous, as I suddenly realize why I feel so out of place. Galas I have done before. Having any kind of romantic date, even as a guise for a bodyguard, is not something I've done before. Before I can take the rose from his hand, I tense immediately as masculine cologne and aftershave invades the surrounding air as he steps into my personal space. Every instinct within me kicks and screams for me to move as I watch the rose lift to my line of sight before disappearing.

"I made sure the thorns were removed."

My eyes flutter shut as apples mixes with his scent and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I feel the smooth stem slide along the back of my ear. Realizing he had somehow managed to get the rose to stay pinned against the side of my head, most likely contrasting against my entire outfit, my eyes open as I feel him step away.

"Well, what do you guys think?" Tony asks, as I look around.

Clint's mouth opens before I catch sight of Natasha's foot stepping carefully on Clint's, before the red-head allows a small smile to form on her lips, "I believe in an artistic way, it seems to...compliment the dress very well. You two better get going before you are late."

Nodding stiffly, I follow Tony to the elevator. As the doors slide shut, I glance at the man next to me. Everything about him seemed to live and breathe a love for life, and to be honest, it was a bit intimidating.

"You seem tense. I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?"

Swallowing the flavor of apple, I smile softly, "I'll admit I'm a bit nervous."

I watch as understanding flickers in his gaze, before he nudges me gently with his elbow, "Hey. Relax. This is me, here. You haven't really had a chance to get out of the Tower for a while, so just think of this as our visit to the museum a few weeks ago."

Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, and oddly, the scent wafting around him and his flavor causes my shoulder to sink as the tension fades. Hearing the 'ding' as we arrive to the ground level, my eyes open and I offer him a grin.

"Alright, Tony. Let's go."

The responding grin I receive puts me at even more ease. Following him to the car waiting for us, I am introduced to Hogan; or Happy as Tony calls him.

Beautifully dressed women and suit-clad men fill every square inch of the gallery. The aristocratic air is stifling and Tony seems to shift into the charismatic, billionaire figure-head the press has pegged him as. Everywhere he steps, eyes follow. From the air of arrogance around him to the animated hand gestures, I watch in some morbid form of amusement as he pulls everyone's attention to him.

As Tony murmurs about going to get a drink, I move through the crowd, looking over each display. As soft classical music wafts through the air, a light blue displayed in my mind, I sway gently to it as I look over one photography showcase. I smile at landscapes and pictures of students in natural poses around campus. I'd recognize this artwork anywhere.

"Lexi?" I flinch at the orange-citrus flavor before looking up at the tall, beautiful blonde, hazel eyes gleaming from behind reading glasses.

"Cassidy Sanders," I greet with a curt nod, "Your showcase is impressive."

"Thanks. I had a chance to look at your's as well. Impressive as always," Cassidy responds

Cassidy Sanders. She is a girl everyone adores. Pure of heart and always kind. There is no way anyone can get by with hating the girl to any degree.

A pair of hands covers my vision and a hum, full of deep bass, travels along the nerves of my skin before I hear, "_Bonsoir, mon cher._"

Bubbly champagne floods my senses and I feel the hands release me as I turn on heel. Chocolate brown eyes gleam with mischief. Deep auburn hair, cropped short and styled so immaculate that not a strand is out of place. Tall and lean, his figure coated by a deep sapphire suit. Everything about him screamed perfection, at its finest.

"Jacquot," I whisper, feeling the grin slowly stretch across my lips.

"We are in America, _mon cher_, I insist you call me Jimmy," he responds, his deep, husky voice full of jest.

I can't stop myself as I slowly move closer to the dark-skinned Frenchman, my arms wrapping around his waist as I bury my face in the cloth-covered chest. Inhaling his unique, spicy aroma, I close my eyes as I feel closer at home than I have in so long. The embrace doesn't last long as I feel my own body slowly shudder as the bass-filled hum travels along my skin, and I pull back, giving him a watery smile.

"I have missed you, so much," I admit softly.

Lips press against my forehead gently, "Ah, _cher_, I have missed you more than you know."

"There you are!"

Apple filters through the champagne taste and I pull back to see Tony pausing in his approach a few feet away from us, "Tony. This is Jacquot, or Jimmy. Jacquot, this is Anthony Stark."

"Tony Stark? As in Stark Industries? _Mon Dieu!_ How did you manage to snag a man like him?" Jimmy asks, grinning suggestively in my direction.

I blush, looking down once again, but Tony answers, "Lexi is a dear friend of mine. She did not wish to arrive here alone, so I offered to be her escort for the evening. Lexi, here, has told me a lot about you."

"Only good things, I hope," Jimmy responds, and I bite the inside of my cheek at the familiar glint in those deep brown eyes.

"Oh yes. You two are the best of friends. You are an incredible painter, though you sing horribly off-key," Tony remarks, grinning as I am shot a playful glare by my companion.

Jimmy takes the time to show us around the gallery. A hot flush spreads across my cheeks the moment we arrive at my surrogate-brother's showcase. At the sight of a _very_ familiar, and _extremely_ embarrassing painting, I don't even hesitate as my hand reaches up and connects with the back of the painter's head.

"You promised you would never show that!" I hiss, trying not to draw attention, as I watch Tony's head tilt, gazing at the same painting.

"Relax, _cher_, you are a beautiful creature."

"I'll say. Are you really naked under that sheet?" Tony's apple-flavored voice asks and I feel the blush on my cheeks bleed to my ears.

The painting, while slightly exposing, is probably one of Jimmy's best pieces. It doesn't help that I can see the reflection of my own sorrow hidden deep within the painted gaze. The human form, a mandatory piece for all Fine Arts majors, and Jimmy insisted that I be his model. It wasn't my proudest moment, but after some serious convincing, I agreed only in exchange for him to be mine.

"It's embarrassing."

Jimmy snorts, "Are you kidding? It shows you, so exposed, so intimate. It is one of my favorite piece, _cher_, because you trusted me enough to see you so exposed."

"Excuse me," I bite back the urge to vomit as the flavor of days old milk fills my senses. "I am very interested in your piece here. How much is it going for?"

Jimmy, keyed into my discomfort, reluctantly replies, "Twenty-five thousand."

"I'll take it."

Feeling a heavy sense of discomfort as I look over the dark-haired man with hazel-brown eyes, I fight the urge to buy the piece myself, when apple swarms my taste buds, "Actually, I already staked claim to it, and I am offering a sum of one-hundred thousand."

The man looks over Tony in a manner that causes me to tense, a dark sneer on his face before he turns on heel and saunters off. Jimmy sighs, turning to Tony to refuse the man's exceeding of the original price. I am flattered when Tony insists the painting is worthy more than twenty-five grand, especially since the proceeds go to the American Music and Art Charity Fund.

As the night comes to an end, Tony and I pause in front of the car, and I turn to Jimmy, "Will I see you again?"

"Of course, _mon cher_. I must return home in a few days, _maman_ hasn't been feeling well, so I want to make sure I am close by if the family needs anything. Mr. Stark," Tony nods in response, "Take care of Lexi. She is a bit of a handful at times, but she carries a heart of gold."

"I will. I hope your mother gets well," Tony replies, and I smile warmly at his show of caring.

_"Merci_," Jimmy responds, pressing a soft kiss on my forehead, "_Au revoir, ma chérie._"

Climbing into the bag of the car, I wave briefly before Happy pulls away and the car begins to exit the parking lot. My friend, my brother, whom I love with my heart. I cannot remember a time where he hadn't been around. Sure, before attending college, he hadn't been a part of my life, but that life had been painful and somber. The freak of nature. An outcast in the eyes of society. It didn't matter to my peers back then. The words full of snark and hate. The dirty looks and awful rumors.

"I promise to keep it hidden from the others," Tony's apple-flavor pulls me from my trip down memory lane, and I am surprised to see I am once again in the elevator, "The painting. If you find it so...personal, I will keep it from the others."

I smile at his thoughtfulness, "_Merci_, Tony."

"Nah. I'd rather keep it for myself," he grins, winking suggestively.

I giggle at his teasing jest, shaking my head, "No, not for that. For being my...escort for tonight."

Tony reaches up, brushing a piece of hair from my face and a shiver travels through me as a faint whisper caresses my skin, "Don't mention it. In fact, it would be my pleasure to play escort for you again."

Stepping out of the elevator, I flash him a small, thankful smile, "So, are we still on for our trip to Central Park?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Gorgeous."

Blushing, I nod and before I can stop myself, I press a small kiss against his cheek, shivering again at the faint whisper, "Thank you, Tony. I'll see you in the morning."

As I shut the door to my room, the faint taste of apple fills my senses, "Yeah...see you then."

Shutting my eyes, I kick off my heels, shrug off my dress and slip into simple lounge wear. Collapsing on my bed, I think back to the brief touch. So...different than anything I've felt before. Most people are either loud, or their touch is a hum of some kind. Never before have I felt a whisper of touch. The sound of his touch reflecting at the soft caress he provided for a brief moment.

Burying my face into a pillow, I let out a muffle groan.

This can't be happening. Seriously. What would a man like Tony Stark, who could have anyone, see in some freak of nature like me. I shudder as the recent memory of wanting to sink into his touch invades my mind.

No. This can't be happening to me.

* * *

**Let me start this off with saying Jacquot is a nickname for Jacques. Jacques is the French equivalent of James, so Jacquot can be read Jimmy in English standard. This is a slight turning point, as Lexi begins to realize not every touch is loud. Tony's simple gesture (simple to him) is a foreign concept in Lexi's mind, so this will start touch references. I don't want to reveal too much, so...you'll have to wait for it.**

**In Lexi's mind, this is not considered a date. To Tony's last statement in the chapter, the slightest hesitance, I figured Tony Stark has never had a female companion (seen as a date) leave with a gesture so innocent as a kiss on the cheek. I hope most of you can understand how it can probably throw him for a small loop.**

**Clint's reaction...um...well, as Lexi and Clint have a sibling-bond, I figured he would be the one to voice an opinion against this outing.**

**Now, onto my awesome reviewers. Seriously! I left Chapter Five eight hour before starting this, and I jumped from sixteen reviews to twenty-seven. You guys made me all really, really happy. Like on a visceral level!**

**Crystal-Wolf-Guardian-967: Thank you. I am pleased you enjoyed it.**

**Ravenclaw Slytherin: Again, thank you as well!**

**yourshowingoffagain: Honestly, your reviews are so encouraging. I apologize for the mercenary/assassin mix-up. I knew they both had been assassins, but I wasn't sure if S.H.I.E.L.D. hired them on as assassins, or as mercenaries. The only reason I use mercenaries is because Natasha is hell-bent on repenting for what she had done in the past, so I believe she would not view herself as an assassin. She has shown skills that lean toward a spy for S.H.I.E.L.D. (reference toward Iron Man 2 movie), but that is my reason behind using mercenary. Clint, same ideal works for him. I hope this chapter is to your liking. Thanks again for your wonderful reviews.**

**watergoddeskasey: You crazy nutcase! Where are my cupcakes, my evil minion! -lol- Beautimos? Kind of like Infamously Beautiful. Why yes...I do believe it sounds about right. I am pleased you have been enjoying my updates!**

** .Uchiha : I am pleased you enjoyed the minor Natasha/Lexi moment. I don't want to take Natasha out of character, but find a way for Lexi to become close with her in the way they both already are. I have a feeling, with how innocent Lexi's character is, that it will help her a bit with befriending Natasha more. Thank you!**

**Beshineshi: You naughty person, you. Reading my story in Chemistry! I feel guilt and yet morbidly pleased. I am glad you are enjoying it so much. Thank you for taking 'precious' time to read it.**

**To my twenty-three silent, evil minions so far, thanks to those who have read, but still remain silent! You make me so happy.**

**Until next time.**


	7. Chapter 7: Château de l' Mason

**Taste of Apples**

**Summary:**

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

**Author's Note:**

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Seven  
**Château de l' Mason

* * *

The horrible tightly coiled sensation in the pit of my stomach remains. A week has passed since the gallery and throughout the week I found myself battling the odd confliction of emotions toward Tony's whispered caress. The only thing breaking my musing over such emotional confusion had been caused by a phone call I received in the early hours of the morning. I tried to push away the weariness my heart carriers as I made breakfast, yet it seemed to encourage the feeling even more. I tried, all day, to ignore it, believing it to be a bout of nervous tension.

"Lexi!"

My thoughtful musings shatters suddenly as pumpkin-pie filters in my senses and I glance up at the table of heroes. It seems as though my weekend breakfasts had encouraged the team to start having a weekly dinner. It warmed me to see that they were trying to make me feel at home here. The thought of home causes me to look down, not wanting them to see the forlorn gleam I am sure is sparking in my gaze.

"_Désolé_," I apologize softly, "I am afraid I am not feeling quite like myself."

"We noticed," Sour-apple trickles over my senses, and I inwardly shudder, "Is everything alright?"

"I have an odd feeling that something is wrong. _Madame, _something is wrong with_ la Madame. _Jacquot called me earlier, said that his _maman_ had been admitted to the hospital. That her health has grown more compromised in the past few days," I nibble on my bottom lip.

"I understand you are concerned, Lexi," Steve's voice breaks the sudden silence, "but you cannot help it if she has become sick."

Fighting back the conflicting tears, I feel myself snap a glare at Steve, "_La Madame_ has always been health conscientious. She had never been gravely sick, nothing more than the common cold, and even then it is rare she is sick for very long. _Non_, something is very wrong."

"Could it be caused by environmental situations?" Bruce suggests lightly, obviously in-tuned to my emotional turmoil.

"_Non_, they reside in the countryside of Southern France. Very little pollution. She carries no allergies."

"You think someone has caused her to become sick," Natasha points out and I inwardly smile at her quick-wit.

I nod, solemn, "_Oui_. It is no secret that Jacquot and I are great friends, and that his _famille_ have come to view me as a member of their _famille_. If Director Fury is right in the assumption, that there are people looking for me, then the Mason _famille_ would be a way of getting me in the open."

"Well, then it's obvious. Stay here," Tony suggests.

Despite my growing affection toward the engineer, I shoot up from my seat, my palms flat against the table, "I cannot sit by as a woman, so caring as she, grows more sick with each passing day. I want to know if the doctors know of anything. I planned on requesting someone to come with me."

"I'll go."

Sweet, sweet nectarines. I blink, glancing over at the understanding comprehension gleaming in deep blue eyes, "W-what?"

"Oh come on, Barton! This wreaks of a trap," Tony argues.

I feel my fingernails dig into the wood of the table, but Clint sighs, "Yeah, I'm not stupid, Stark. If we tell her that she can't go, she's just going to find a way there, _by herself_. I will go with her, so she can visit her friend's family, see if I can get some information, and I will make sure she returns safe and sound."

I fight the urge to tackle my dear friend in a thankful hug, and settle for a small smile, "Thank you, Clint. I already have a pair of tickets. We fly out at two in the morning."

Ignoring the shocked comprehension, the others realizing Clint had been right in his assumption, I pick up my plate and enter the kitchen. Placing it in the dishwasher, I disappear into my room, packing whatever I might need.

Hours pass, and though Clint and I are approaching the time to arrive at the airport, I seek out Bruce. Finding him in his lab, I smile weakly as he motions for me to come in.

"I need your help with something."

"What is it?" Bruce's chili-flavored voice flows through my taste buds.

I smile, thankful for the help of such a friend. Ten minutes later, I bid him farewell, before making my way down to the ground level. Spotting Clint, and Tony, waiting by the entrance doors, I thank Clint as he takes my bags without a word and leaves Tony and I alone. Shifting in my stance, I glance over at Tony, still slightly upset with him. Before I can react, my body is pulled across the small distance between us and I shiver at the whispered touch, instinctively inhaling his scent.

"I don't like this," Tony insists, "but I know I can't change your mind. Promise me, you will remain by Barton's side at all times."

Feeling my irritation fade, a soft smile tugs at my lips, "I promise."

I pull back from the embrace, shuddering at the sudden silent void at the loss of his touch, "I have to go, Tony."

"I know, just...stay safe. Last thing any of us want is, is to face the wrath of Agent Hill," Tony quips, trying to lighten up the moment.

I giggle at his statement, "I will. I'll be back before you realize I'm gone."

Walking off, I hear a gentle murmur, the only word I manage to catch is 'doubt'. Slipping into the backseat of the car, Clint gives me a small grin before telling Happy we were ready to go.

After nearly an eight hour flight into Paris, France, Clint and I find a way to amuse ourselves during the six hour car ride from Paris to Bordeaux, France. A small smile pulls at my lips as I view the familiar streets as I realize we are close to arriving at _Château de l' Mason_. I hear a slight awe in Clint's voice as we pull up to the gated entrance and as the gates part, the extensively built cottage-styled mansion greets us. Lush gardens and emerald green land, it is no wonder why so many find this place to be beautiful. As we thank the driver, and pay for his services, Clint nudges me with his elbow and I glance up to see the front door open.

"_Mademoiselle Roux. Bienvenue sur Le Château de l' Mason_," the familiar currant-flavored voice of Pierre, the house keeper, greets.

"_B__onjour_, Pierre. If you don't mind, _mon ami_ prefers English," I greet as Pierre motions for some of the house servants to gather our bags.

"Ah, _oui, oui_. Welcome, _M__onsieur_. If you are in need of anything during your stay, feel free to ask," Clint nods curtly, his well-trained gaze sweeping over the foyer area.

"Do I hear the voice of Lexi Roux?" I can't stop the grin as I turn to greet the man with the cinnamon-flavored voice. "Who is this _homme _you brought with you?"

"This is _mon ami_, Clint Barton. Clint, this is _M__onsieur _Marcel Mason, Jacquot's father. Marcel, Clint here is a close friend of mine who did not wish for me to travel alone," I introduce the two men.

Marcel Mason, is a man of integrity and aristocratic-grace, not so different from Tony in that point. Clint remains respectful as Marcel shows us around the house, though I know my way around just fine. As I follow Clint, who seems to have caught Marcel's attention (and respect from what I can see), I find myself taking a trip down memory lane. I remember the summer and winter holidays, when my parents had been too busy. The long weeks I spent in this house, working on personal art projects with Jacquot. I remember watching as _Madame_ work in the garden, beautiful arrangements of various roses, tulips and lilies decorating the luscious landscape. I remember movie nights with Jacquot's brothers, and being dragged through the merchant districts by his sisters.

"The doctors are busy doing tests on Angelique, and we won't be able to visit until tomorrow," Marcel states, his English tainted with the thick French accent. "You two are welcome to our guest rooms, of course."

"Thank you, for your hospitality, sir," Clint responds.

"None of that, sir stuff. I insist you call me Marcel."

Pierre, sneaky as he is, appears out of no where to show Clint and I to our rooms. After unpacking, I find myself sprawled across my bed as a knock sounds on the door. Calling out for the person to enter, I hear a soft click of the door shutting and yet cannot seem to hear any footsteps. The subtle depression on the mattress causes me to open one eye and I glance over to see Clint laying across the bed, mimicking my position.

"Marcel seems to think highly of you. As though you are one of his own children," Clint comments, and I nod stiffly, "So, why do I get the feeling you do not return the sentiment?"

"Though my parents were very busy most of the time, I still loved them dearly. I knew that their work meant a lot, that they were helping people, so I am not so broken by it. Jacquot's _famille_ had really been the first time I was able to experience what a _famille_ felt like. I respect them, greatly," I smile softly, "_Madame_ Angelique, she set up a funding account for surrounding orphanages, so that the kids can go to the doctors and get yearly check-up and whatever immunizations they might need. She donated so much money and time into local hospitals. To think someone might be behind her sickness, it hurts more than you know."

"They seem like a great family," Clint comments softly.

"Hey, Clint?" A grunt sounds from my side, "Would you...stay in here with me?" Feeling his gaze burning against the side of my head, I blush, "I've never really been comfortable sleeping in this house, too quiet. Jacquot used to keep me company all the time."

"Hey," Clint nudges me gently, "I'm here to make you feel safe, right? I'd probably be up all night worrying about your safety anyway. Though, we probably shouldn't mention any of this to Tony, and the others."

I nod in agreement, thankful for the familial bond I seem to share with the marksman. As the night drags on, I find myself falling asleep to the light-hearted hum caressing my nerves, rendering me into a deeper sleep.

I've never been a fan of hospitals. Hell, I think I share the sentiment with the majority of the people in this world. Staring at the oppressive building, I steel my nerves as I follow Marcel into the building, Clint keeping by my side (at all times like he promised). I am thankful that the slight awkwardness of the sleeping arrangement hasn't hindered our growing friendship. In fact, I feel as though we are closer than before.

"Lexi!"

The dark-skinned young man greeting me causes me to smile weakly as I feel myself embraced by my dear Jacquot, "Honestly, _cher_, how many handsome men do you have stringing along?"

I giggle, despite the situation, Jacquot remains as playful as ever, and I pull out of the embrace, motioning toward Clint, "This is _mon ami_, Clint. Clint, this is Jacques Mason."

"_Maman_ kept asking about you. How you've been doing in the Americas. When I told her you were planning on visiting, she insisted you see her," Jacquot states.

Smiling weakly, "Is it alright if Clint comes with me?"

"_Oui_, like any of us can deny you anything."

I blush at the sentiment, hearing a snort of irony come from Clint, and I know he is referring to our conversation last night, "_Merci_. We will go on in, then."

Leading Clint into the room, I stop short at the sight of the pale-skinned woman laying asleep on the bed. Realizing she has not woken up for the day, I motion for Clint to remain silent before I walk over to the bed. Digging into my purse, I pull out a hypodermic needle and an anti-coagulant vacuum tube. Hearing Clint make a startled sound, I approach the IV, placed in order for the nurses to take blood samples, and slip the needle into the port. Attaching the tube, I remain silent as a few minor units of blood begins to fill the tube. When I believe I have taken enough, I pop out the tube and remove the needle. Throwing the needle into the needle-disposal box, I place the tube carefully into my purse.

"What was that?" Clint whispers.

"I asked Bruce if he would run blood samples for me. I don't trust the doctors here. Who knows if those men have their fingers dug into a few of the employees here?" I reply.

"Anyone ever tell you, you think like an agent?"

I smile weakly, "My parents were insistent on me making sure I know who I can trust for sure, and be weary of those I am unsure of."

"L-Lexi? Is that you, _chère fille_?"

Tasting the familiar flavor of sour cherries, I feel my eyes burn in response, "_Oui, Madame_. How are you feeling?"

"Awful, _ma fille_." I watch as light brown eyes open, gazing at me with warmth and welcome, "Who is your friend?"

"This is Clint. He didn't wish me to come visit you in such a state by myself. Clint, this is Angelique Mason," I motion toward the blonde beauty lying on the bed.

Clint greets the woman gently and before I know it, I am listening as the woman speaks of everything that has occurred recently with the family. At the sound of the door opening, Clint and I look up as the doctor steps in. I watch closely as Angelique greets the man softly, and as he responds carefully, I feel myself tense. The familiar urge to vomit tugs at me, and I force myself to grin through it.

"_Madame_, I'm afraid I must be going," I press a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.

Rushing out of the room, I inform Jacquot that Clint and I needed to go and to keep me updated. Thanking Marcel, and wishing the family good fortune, I stalk out of the hospital and pull out my phone.

"_Tante_, can you send Clint and I a pick up. _Oui_. Bordeaux, France. _Merci, Tante_."

"Lexi! What's going on?"

Looking up at Clint, I motion for him to follow as I hail a taxi. Quickly arriving at the Mason's home, I insist on packing up our things. Hearing Clint demand and explanation, I sigh, "The doctor, the one that came into _Madame's_ room. He was the same man from the gallery. The one that approached Jacquot, interested in buying one of his paintings of me."

"The man has a painting of you?" Clint inquires in confusion.

"_Non._ Tony bought it at a higher price," I state in distraction, "The man...he doesn't feel right. I don't think it's coincidence. We need to leave as soon as possible."

"Alright. Just...calm down."

The flavor of sweet nectarines mixes with the light-hearted hum as Clint's hand rests on my shoulder, "Relax, Lexi. Nothing will happen to you."

I shake my head, "Don't you get it. These people are hurting the only people I've cared about in the past four years. Why? Why are they after me?"

"I don't know, but freaking out isn't going to help. You need to calm down. We'll head back home and maybe we can send Tasha for recon," Clint murmurs, his tone gentle, despite the worry in his gaze.

Home? Thinking over the word, I realize the Tower had become home. The first time, in a very long time, I now have a home. The manic tension in my body fades and Clint seems to release a sigh of relief. Yes. We will return home and figure out what these people want.

But why? Why me? I've never hurt anyone. I've never done anything bad. What is is that they want me for?

* * *

**Thank you for reading! As I stated previously, Lexi is going to start developing a closer bond with the team as she begins to become touch-oriented with them. Bet none of you guessed the man wanting to buy Lexi's 'exposed' painting would have any real part to the story. Oh does the plot ever thicken.**

**Yes, Jacques/Jacquot comes from an inter-racial family. His mother is Caucasian and his father is of African decent. If none of you notice, there is something different about Jacquot. Can you guess? **

**To my lovely Reviewers!**

**Crystal-Wolf-Guardian-967: Thank you. I'm glad you are enjoying it.**

**xxxRena: -lol- I am pleased you have found and are enjoying my story thus far! It pleases me to no end.**

**Ravenclaw Slytherin: Thanks as well.**

**Carly Carnations: 'Lovely Chap' You know, I thought of Jarvis when you said that! No lie. Thank you. I am pleased you are enjoying the story so much.**

**yourshowingoffagain: Aww...I'm so happy you enjoy it. I know Tony seems a bit more...soft in my story, but again, I doubt he has ever experienced a innocent woman before. I mean, come on, women just throw themselves at him, so I figured he be caught off guard by Lexi's constant innocence.**

**Guest: Thank you. Though you have no name to call you by, I am glad you enjoy the imagery.**

**LittleMissMia123: -lol- you naughty girl you. Of course that will be introduced in later chapter, but I need Lexi to develop a more comfort level. Obvious, she is a virgin, and with her Synethesia, a wonderful experience could be painful for her if she isn't completely ready for it.**

**To my other minions:**

**Thanks!**

**Until next time!**


	8. Chapter 8: Bitterness of the Past

**Taste of Apples**

**Summary:**

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

**Author's Note:**

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Eight  
**Bitterness of the Past

* * *

There was once a girl, a girl I knew all-too-well. She carried a heavy burden on her shoulders and a fear of the world around her. She had been misunderstood by many and claimed outcast by all. She moved through her days, void of any feeling and fighting to keep the strain of life from collapsing on her. She had been talented beyond belief, but even then, she remained dissatisfied by what life had to offer. She had been more human than others could see.

But she was dead inside.

She felt nothing toward those around her. Even as she watched people, everyday as they moved through their mundane lives. She picked up on human habits. She knew when people lied. She could tell when people were uncomfortable. She could see behind the masks of faked personalities. She could see everything, see beyond what others could, see what most wished never to be seen.

"Lexi Roux?"

This is exactly why I tried, in every possible way, to avoid this place. Seeing the clear disdain in the eyes looking me over, I felt the faint remnants of the person I used to be solidify and begin to take hold. The void of inescapable emptiness slowly began its growth within the core of my chest as I look over the overly-made-up face and luscious hair. The designer dress hugging a figure of unmentionable beauty and seems as though it had been made for the body it deigns.

"Yes?" I respond, feeling an age-old sense of boredom coat my greeting and I am sure a dark, emotionless gleam takes over my gaze.

"Talk about people never changing," the girl retorts, her gaze sweeping over my own dress, "_Where_ did you find such a dress?"

Glancing down at my soft aquamarine-green dress, I wonder what exactly is wrong with it. The strapless bodice hugs my torso, while the skirt flares out, dusting over my kneecaps. Black lace, in a floral design, decorates the entire span of the skirt, and the grey material beneath the skirt (allowing it to remain it a consistently flared state) gives the dress an edger look. Black, elbow-length gloves covers the expanse of my forearms, matching the black stiletto heels donned on my feet.

"I made it," I state, trying to ignore the reflexive wince begging to release at the sight of the soft, pink, floor-length gown this other woman is wearing, "Speaking of stereotypes, did you get the idea for your dress from you 'My Size' Barbie? I remember them designing a dress like that for children."

"Oh? The Queen of Snark really hasn't changed," I fight the urge to roll my eyes, opting to continue the 'bored' look. "So? What drug-induced hazed gave you the idea for that dress?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. I almost miss the old days, when my life had been void of emotional turbulence. When I wouldn't bat an eyelash at her remark. When I didn't have friends, people who treat me far better than I deserve. Now, that I have a taste of what family and friends is like, it is hard to let comments such as her's slide without second thought.

"There you are, Lexi," pumpkin-pie filters through the sickeningly sweet flavor of confectionery sugar, "Oh, is this a friend of your's?"

I manage a snort, glancing over at Steve as he passes me a glass of punch, "Oh yes. We were so close back in the day that she ate my fist for lunch."

The beauty smiles tightly at my remark, and I am pleased that I still manage to get under people's skin (it's a gift, honest), before her eyes take in Steve's handsome features and muscular physique, "I'm Amber Coxley."

"Steve Rogers," the out-of-his-time Soldier replies curtly, picking up on the obvious tension.

"So, how did Lexi Roux of all people manage to snag a handsome guy like you?" Amber questions, "You aren't into that shit too, are you?"

"I beg your pardon, Miss, but I have no idea what you are talking about. Lexi is a dear friend," Steve states, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Amber gestured the length of his body, "Your tight bod. Don't tell me you fell down the same gutter as the walking Gateway Drug."

"You look hungry, _Coxley_," I remark, referencing to the day I snapped and punched her in the face during our Lunch Period.

Seeing a deeply veiled hint of fear as I step forward, Amber snorts as she steps back, "Same old, Roux. A freak back then, still a freak now. Just so you know, Steve, this pathetic basket case isn't worth your time."

Watching as she saunters off, still acting as though she owns the place, I growl inwardly, "_P__utain_," I hiss under my breath, before turning to Steve, "Tell me again why you guys thought this was a good idea?"

"You've hardly left your room since you came back from visiting your friend's family, and you need to get out," Steve comments carefully, before looking around the decorated dance hall, "What did she mean? Calling you the walking Gateway Drug?"

I sigh, running my hands through my tangled curls. Motioning for him to follow, I lead him outside and instantly light up a cigarette. Thinking it over, I inwardly wince at the horde of memories rushing through my mind. The memories I hate to remember. The hollow pit along the core of my chest, flowing outward and throughout my entire body. The heavy sense of self-hate and just a general disgust for the world around me.

"Due to my..._condition_, I never really went out of my way to make friends when I was attending the Academy," I pause, taking a long drag from the cancer-inducing tube, "My parents were always busy. I didn't really understand anything about my Synethesia. My social ineptness caused a lot of other students during my school days to view me as the social outcast. Amber Coxley had been the bane of existence. A girl who had such talent, such beauty and could essentially become anything she wanted. Yet, she wasted it on her stupidity and her own self-gain on a social scale."

"What does that have to do with being referred to-"

"I was a bad kid," I interrupt, looking down at the ground, trying to fight back the age-old emotions, "Therapy didn't help, my parents didn't know how to respond to it and I didn't know a single person I could relate to. I...ended up being caught up doing some less than morally correct things to get rid of the emptiness in my life."

"So...you used drugs?" Steve questions, obviously not believing the words.

"Not as much as Coxley lead you to believe. Just...some times, I was weak. You and the rest of the team have this idea that I'm...perfect, or completely innocent. For the most part, I am, but when the only person you can consult on a regular basis is yourself, you end up with a twisted sense of perception," I fight the urge to look over at the man standing by my side, "Back then, my sensory switch-up caused me more trouble than it does now. I didn't understand how it worked, I didn't really understand how to combatant the constant flux of flavor while surrounded by a large mass of people. I left school with a migraine every single day, and it grew to a point where I didn't want to do it anymore. As pathetic as it sounds, getting into that mess of mind-numbing hallucinogenics had been the only way to cope in a manner that didn't cater to the idea of snuffing myself out."

"T-That must have been very difficult for you," Steve comments, and I spare him a quick glance before looking away from the odd glint in his eyes, "I can't imagine what you must have gone through. Can I ask what changed?"

"Graduating and getting out of this hell hole," I remark, a mildly-pleasant tone coating my bland voice, "The moment I had been accepted into the University, I left and never looked back. It was the summer after graduating that I went to the doctors and they told me about different ways of coping with the Synethesia. I met Jacquot and the past didn't matter anymore."

Shaking my head, trying to clear away the horrible thoughts, I excuse myself from Steve's side, claiming the need for a bathroom. Seeing the pale features staring back at me from the mirror, I shake my head before taking some paper towels, soaking them in cold water and patting my face gently. Closing my eyes as the cold compress work to bring down the influx of bad memories, I sigh inwardly. I hated my life back then. I hated being so young and successful. I hated being so mixed up and so screwed up that I couldn't tell a person what day of the week it had been, nor what was said five minutes prior. My emotional capacity had been so sorely limited.

"Did your date figure out just how pathetic you are?"

Slowly and deeply, I inhale as I open my eyes, staring into the mirror to see Amber Coxley standing behind me, flanked by two other women. Vaguely remembering the pathetic girls that followed her every whim, I realize that these people would never change. I'm sure I have. I had wanted to change, to put the painful, drug-induced past behind me. I wanted to be better than I had been.

"Are you even listening to me?" Amber hisses, a veil of annoyance coating her gaze.

Hm...I wonder if I should just walk away. Give her the same satisfaction she had back then. The same bout of superiority that she carried for so long. I may have changed, but I'll be damned if someone like her thinks she's better than me.

"_Non_." I respond, seeing her eyebrows knit together, "Do _you_ listen to yourself? Because I'm sure you'd realize how pathetically juvenile you are acting."

"Juvenile? So says the freak hiding in the bathroom."

I quirk a solitary eyebrow, knowing how much a lack of emotional response bothers her more than anything, "Please tell me you aren't purposely seeking me out in an attempt to catch me unaware?"

"Why would I bother trying to seek out someone so pathetic as you? I bet you think you're real cute, huh? Parading around with that hunk of meat? Did you pay him?"

"Don't forget about that gala a while back. The one where she was seen with _the_ Jacques Mason and _the_ Tony Stark," one of the women next to Amber says, pointing in my direction.

I blink, my attention turning to her, "Oh? Are you a fan of Jacquot's? He is extremely talented, _non?_"

"Wait? You're actually friends with Jacques Mason?" the woman asks, surprised.

Completely ignoring Amber's growing fury, I nod, allowing my lips to tug into a smirk, "_Oui_, Jacquot and I both attended the same University. He had actually been my roommate. A bit of a nutcase, but very talented."

"Oh I know! His use of such vibrant colors against the darker equivalents is so brilliantly done. Every single one of his pieces I think I fell in love with. Did you meet Tony Stark at that gala?"

Slightly surprised by the turn of events, I shake my head, "_Non_, I met Tony a few weeks before that night. Tony is actually a very dear friend of mine."

"There is no way _the_ Tony Stark is friends with a twisted little freak like you. For what reason? You dress like a freak. Your artwork is morbid, disturbing and quite frankly could use some color. You hardly talk, and when you do you piss people off. You are the most disturbing individual I've ever met. In what universe is Tony Stark a friend to Lexi Roux?" Amber visciously spits out.

"Apparently, this one," I point out, smirking as she becomes more riled up with each passing comment. "I find it amusing that there _is_ someone more arrogant than Tony is."

"Tony Stark is only arrogant because he has every right to be. Especially if he's spending time with someone as inferior as you," Amber sneers, and I can't help the minor twitch in my eyebrow at her last words, causing her anger to quickly fade into realization, "Oh...Oh, please tell me it's not true," Laughter rings through her voice, "Lexi Roux has fallen for the charms of Tony Stark. You actually think Tony Stark is going to fall in love with someone like you? That's like a Prince marrying a peasant. Tony Stark is not a man that falls for someone beneath his status."

"Tony is different than you think," I argue, but even I can hear the weakness of my words.

"Oh yes. Tony, a billionaire who believes himself to be God's gift to women everywhere, is a saint. Everyone knows what Tony Stark is like. He's handsome, sure. A genius, yes. Wealthy, obviously. Someone that's going to stick around when things get tough? Ha! Tony is a man that fears commitment," Amber cackles.

My fingers curl into a tight fist. My thoughts flash to Tony. He may not be the best when it comes to relationships, but to say he fears commitment? He carries a commitment to the people, developing energy-saving technology. He carries a commitment to being Iron Man, saving those in need. He carries a commitment to the agency and his fellow team members, he _is_ Iron Man.

"If I were you, I would stop speaking of others as though you know them," I state slowly, feeling my words harden and grow darker with each passing word.

"What? You think you know Tony better than the world? Tony Stark may have some fascination with you at the moment, but once he learns how much of a freak you are, mark my words, he'll be gone."

"Amber, stop," one of the women next to her says, tugging on her elbow, "Leave Lexi alone."

"Don't be such a spoil sport, Tabitha," Amber sneers. "Really, if Tony thinks so much of you, Roux, then why are you here with another man? Trying to make him jealous?"

"Do you remember, so long ago, when you called me out in the middle of Lunch?" I insinuate, watching the slightest hint of fear flicker in her gaze, "I may not be the same person that I used to be, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let a _putain_ like you speak of my friends in such a manner."

A snort sounds as Amber turns her back to me, "You aren't worth the effort."

I watch carefully as she walks off, one of her flunkies shooting me a glare while the other murmurs a soft apology. I hate these people. I hate the memories they force me to recall. I hate the person I once was. My life had been so different then, so mixed-up and oppressive. I now have people that show concern for me, that go out of their way to make sure I am comfortable. The whole team of heroes, who are capable of doing anything.

Including looking past my differences.

As the night comes to an end, and I find myself lying on my bed, the familiar void of emptiness surrounds me. Echoing in the depths of my mind, Amber's words reverberate through everything. When I just thought my life couldn't be more complicated, when I figured out what life has to offer, the past finds a way to plant a seed, heavy with doubt and self-loathing. Curling into a tight ball, I close my eyes, blocking the view of the world. Sadly, I know Amber is right in one of her statements.

Tony would never return such feelings. Not to a screw-up freak of nature like me.

* * *

**A little angst, but I wanted you guys to understand a bit of Lexi's past that has influenced her to be the person she is now. Though she has a deep love for what life has to offer, it hadn't always been that way. Her Synesthesia was not well-known of back then, so she had no way of coping. I wanted you to understand that Lexi is not as innocent as she seems, but when it comes to emotional situations and becoming involved with people on an emotional level, in that manner, she is completely innocent. Lexi hates, absolutely hates how weak she believes she had been back then, and remains sober and clean because of it. Yes, Amber is your typical Queen of the School, but every school has one of those.**

**Sorry about taking a while to update. I haven't been feeling the greatest and a lot of stuff has occurred recently in my life that has taken me off focus. I do hope this chapter bears some insight into Lexi's life, because the next chapter will be more fun. I am planning on making a Halloween chapter, but I want costume ideas. I want ideas that are outrageous, different, ideas that are... non-conventional. Any ideas that I use from my reviewers will be cited as their idea.**

**Onto my reviewers!**

**To the Anonymous Reviewer: Thank you. Once I get into a story I am writing, it just continues to flow. I am glad you are enjoying the story.**

**Katielee97: Ooohhh...I don't want to give too much away, but you are catching onto something. I hope this chapter pleases you.**

**Missing A Muse: Yes, Jacquot is gay. I love gay guys. Not the macho-man, but the flamboyant ones are my favorite. No, that wasn't what I was going for, but you did catch the underlying 'gaydar'.**

**watergoddesskasey: It's alright. Stuff like that happens. I am pleased you are still enjoying it.**

**Ravenclaw Slytherin: Thanks again!**

**Crystal-Wolf-Guardian-967: I think so too...-lol-**

**Ali: Yes. Yes he is.**

**xxxRena: Awww...your review was too sweet. I do enjoy how Tony and Lexi are developing. **

**Beshineshi: Thanks! I'm glad you are paying attention to your classes...the French class should help -lol- Yes...Clint and Tony will be taking care of her.**

**...Wow...I must say, to the sudden influx of silent minions makes me very pleased. Thanks so much for your silent 'yay!' for the story.**

**Remember, send those ideas for costumes.**

**Until Next Time!**


	9. Chapter 9: Memorial Trip

**Taste of Apples**

**Summary:**

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

**Author's Note:**

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Nine  
**Memorial Trip

* * *

They stare at me now. Some with pity. Some in surprise. I know Steve must have informed them of what I told him. I can see it, in the way they stare. I can't help but feel as though my world is slowly starting to cave in; Angelique Mason's illness and my recent meeting with the past I wish would stay buried. They say you can never keep it buried, but that doesn't mean you can't beat it into submission.

Inhaling the cigarette, I stare up at the pale silver-white moon. Sometimes, I wish I could fly. To remain untied by gravity and free among the clouds. Closing my eyes, I fight back the small seed of insecurity nestled deep within my mind. It had taken me so long to break free of the hollow existence I lived prior to life at University. Every day of my life, I am forever thankful for Jacquot being a part of my life.

"Your up late, again," wild strawberries spreads through my thoughts and I pull my gaze from the moon to stare at the red-head standing in the doorway of the terrace.

"I see that you're back from your mission," I greet Natasha, giving her a small smile, "Did you learn of anything?"

"I am not sure. I managed to catch some of their conversation. They spoke of searching for a book of some kind. _Livre de Rose_," Natasha replies, her eyes watching me carefully as I dispose of the spent cigarette and curl up in the chair behind me.

"The Book of Rose?" I muse thoughtfully, glancing up at the night sky, "I am not sure of any book that would be in my parent's possession, and I hate any heavy reading."

"It is not my place to ask, but are you alright?" I can't even try to stop the quirk from pulling at my eyebrow, and Natasha shifts in slight discomfort before continuing, "You do not seem to be your usually carefree self."

Despite the awful week I've had, a smile twitches my lips slightly, "It is difficult for me to feel happy at the moment. I had been so different when I was younger, and while it feels like a life-time ago, I can't help but wonder if my life will always be this way."

"How so?"

Inhaling deeply, I glance away from the beautiful woman, "I'm not entirely sure why I am telling you this, but...you taste like strawberries," A subtle shift in the air around us makes me believe she is confused, "Your voice, sweet with a pinch of sour, heavily seeded on the outside, but supple and soft in the middle," I glance over to see her eyes widen at my words, "I have Synethesia, a mix-up of sensory receptors. Voices register as flavors."

"So, touch registers?"

"Sound," I reply at her softened tone, "Most people, their touch is loud, invasive and migraine-inducing. When I was attending the Academy in my early teens, at the time, Synethesia was not something doctors had knowledge of. I didn't have any way of understanding what was wrong, so...I wasn't the most open person when it came to making friends."

"I'd imagine so. Tony and Clint both stated that you and your French friend, Jacques, are close. How did that happen?" she asks, moving to take the empty chair next to mine.

I smile softly at the memory, "Jacquot had been my roommate from the moment I started at the University. One day, he told me I smelt like laughter and home. I wasn't sure what he meant until he told me he suffers from Synethesia as well. Smells register as sounds, and touch registers as a taste to him. Our conditions were not so different, and...I finally learned that I wasn't alone in the world. He helped me cope with my condition in ways that weren't harmful to my mind, or body. Our friendship only solidified as we grew closer and moved off campus into a two bedroom studio-flat."

"So, the day we first met. You weren't afraid of me from the moment I spoke because of the way my voice...tasted?"

I giggle at the slightly disturbed tone coating the last word, and I nod, "It may sound odd, but the flavors of everyone's voice seems to mimic their personalities. Steve, he's sweet-spicy pumpkin-pie," Natasha snorts in blatant agreement, "Bruce tastes like chili, spicy with a hint of sweet beneath," The red-head nods, "Thor tastes like hot chocolate, warm and thick, but refreshing after a long, horrible day. Clint, he tastes like nectarines. A single, deep-seeded pit surrounded by a thick layer of luscious sweetness all wrapped in a thin layer of protective skin," Glancing over, I notice a genuine interest grows in her eyes, "Tony...his flavor is sour apple. A small amount of seeds deep within a core, coated in a sour bite, but refreshing and thirst-quenching."

"I...I am impressed. You don't observe people through sight, but through sound, or taste in your case," Natasha states, the slightest awe in her voice making me smile, "Why are you telling me this?"

"I feel like you can understand what it means to do things, things you aren't proud of, in a means to protect your own interests. When I didn't have a way of coping, I turned to hallucinogenics and for the most part, it worked, but...I was never proud in the wake of it all. I felt as though the only person I could rely on was myself, until I met Jacquot, who took me under his wing and taught me how to accept and over-come everything."

A soft, nearly non-existent smile tugs along Natasha's lips, before it faded behind the pain of memories, "I used to be an assassin. I killed more people than I'm willing to tell you. One day, Fury ordered Clint to take me out, as I was becoming a threat to the agency. Instead, Clint offered me a way out, to get rid of the red in my ledger. Seeing the only opportunity to get away and repent, I agreed. Clint has been my saving grace, my friend, comrade and the only family I had known. I became an agent of the agency and until recently, the only person I ever relied on was Clint."

I feel my own insecurities fade at the sight of the woman beside me. Deadly for sure, but wanting to fix the wrongs of her past.

"Thank you, for making me feel better," I see her eyes widen slightly, as though she wasn't sure how she managed to do so, "I just wish I could do something for _Madame Angelique_."

Surprise flickers through Natasha's blue-green eyes, "You mean Stark didn't tell you?" I shake my head in confusion, "Bruce managed to isolate a poison from Angelique's blood sample you brought back. He created an antidote and Tony sent it, along with his personal doctor, to France. He made a call the night after you and Clint came back, set her up with a trusted doctor on his payroll until Bruce could make an antidote."

My heart catches in my throat and a warmth spreads through my chest. The hollow sensation fades rapidly as I launch myself from my chair. Bidding Natasha a goodbye and a thank you, I race myself down to the workshop Tony's kept himself holed up in since my return. Punching in the personal code Tony gave me, I practically flew through the door and stopped a foot away from the surprised philanthropist.

"I-Is it true?" I stutter out, feeling my heart race even more as I take in his slightly haggard appearance. "Is it true? You sent an antidote to _Madame_?"

The surprised confusion in his amber gaze fades into a softened glint, "Bruce and I have been working around the clock since you came back. When Legolas told us you were holding yourself responsible for what happened to her, we all agreed to help in whatever way we can. I was going to tell you-"

I cut him off as I am unable to restrain myself any longer. Launching myself across the short distance, my arms wrap around his waist and tears of relief break free from their hold. I don't even realize his arms shift and wrap around my shoulders as I rest my forehead against the left side of his chest. Peering at the soft blue-white light glowing from under his black shirt, I carefully lift a hand up and gently place it over the warm device. A faint whispering hum travels along my arm.

"Whoever said you were a heartless bastard deserves to rot in Hell," I choke out between my sobs of relief.

Feeling the faint tension fade, a gentle press of his lips on the top of my head causes me to close my eyes, "You'd be one of the few to believe different."

Pulling away from the tearful embrace, I reach up and wipe at my face, "I don't know how I'd ever repay you."

"Stop shutting everyone out," he responds gently, and I fight the urge to close my eyes as his hand moves to brush down my messy hair, "I..." He coughs slightly, a slight discomfort flickering in his eyes, "We all miss your warmth and light. We miss that sparkle in your green eyes. You may not be a member of the team, but you are a member of this dysfunctional family we have here. You...you remind us what it's life to be human and a civilian."

A wide smile, the truest smile I've managed in the last week, spreads across my lips at his words, as I tearfully reply, "You've got yourself a deal, Tony."

The whispered caress of a thumb brushing beneath my left eyes causes me to shudder inwardly, "Welcome back, Bright-Eyes."

Feeling a blush burn across my cheeks, I hear a deep chuckle and his sour-bite becomes sweeter on the tip of my tongue, and I shift in my stance, "Well, I just...want to say thanks. I'm going to try and get some sleep. Perhaps, you should do the same?"

"Lexi Roux?" Tony gasps mockingly, "Are you propositioning me?"

I snort, shoving his shoulder, "In your dreams. Good night, Tony."

"Sweet dreams, Bright-Eyes."

Fighting back the blush at the new nickname, I duck my head in a faint nod before making my way back to my room. Entering my room, I search for a way to occupy my thoughts and keeping them away from the subject that is Tony. Remembering my personal tablet hidden in the depths of my art messenger bag, I remove it and begin toying through the many applications. Coming across an application that carries a collection of pictures, I flip through them.

Most of the recent pictures are ones of Jacquot and myself, the summers during my University years spent at the Chateau memorialized. Pictures of sitting off to the side of Angelique, talking to her as she tended to her garden. Of Jacquot, his brothers and myself surrounding a poker table, junk food, empty bottles of beers and the disappointed faces of those who lost their hands while Jacquot grins widely as he sweeps the pot of chips toward himself. Of being dragged through the shopping district of Bordeaux as Jacquot's sisters pull me down the street, a small smile on my lips despite the irritation caught in my eyes. Of sitting at the counter-top island in the kitchen, talking animatedly over a cup of coffee with Marcel and the chef preparing breakfast.

Flipping further, I feel my eyes widen as I come across old pictures of me, with my parents, on our summer vacation retreats to exotic countries across the world. When I was younger, my parents would take me to different countries. I had always carried a deep love for the cultures of other races (and boy do I hate using that word) and a small smile tugs at my lips. Remembering our trips to China, where my deep love of art only grew more passionate as we visited old cities and villages, learning of their art and architecture. Flipping through the pictures, I come to a set of picture during our summer in Brazil. A dangerous country, but full of beauty, wonder and a richness of culture. The next set of pictures carries memories of my summer in Morocco and Egypt, visiting the bazaars of Morocco and the ancient pyramids of Egypt. Coming across the set of picture from my summer in Japan, I smile as I recall the ambassador we stayed with. Rōzu Taichi, had been his name. His wife died two years prior to our stay, but I met his son, Ryuu, a young man in his mid-twenties (I had just turned sixteen). Ryuu was a brilliant mind and spoke with respect toward my parents, myself as well. He carried a deep-seeded sense of honor and I often believed that he would become one of the greatest minds microbiology has to offer. Ryuu, bless his heart, often tended to the beautiful garden his mother left behind. It was not something common for a man to be seen doing, but he said when he tended to her garden, he felt more connected to her on a spiritual level.

Glancing over at the clock on my nightstand, I grab my phone and flip through the very few contacts, before sending a call.

"_Moshimoshi. Kore wa, jūkyodesu Rōzu. Kore wa Taichi ga hanashite iru."  
_

Hearing the familiar, ginger-flavored voice travel through the phone, I smile softly, "_Kon'nichiwa, Taichi. Kore wa Roux Lexi."_

"Ah," the man clears his throat, switching from Japanese to English for my sake, "It has been many years, yes?"

"Yes. I was flipping through some old pictures and wanted to see how you and the family are doing," I reply.

"We are doing well. Ryuu was speaking of you a few weeks ago. He wanted to speak to you of something," Taichi states, "We heard news of your parents passing. I so sorry for your loss, Lexi-san."

"Thank you, Sir. If you want, you can put Ryuu on."

After getting conformation, a different voice, lighter and carrying the flavor of dragon fruit, "_Kon'nichiwa Lexi-chan."_

"Hi, Ryuu-chan. Taichi said you wanted to talk to me," I reply, coiling a strand of hair around my finger as I stare at the ceiling.

"After hearing the news of your parents, I started to think about you. I remember this tiny girl following me around the garden and sketching everything in that sketch pad of her's," I giggle at the memory, "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I am fine. I was just calling because I was flipping through old pictures and wondered how the family was doing."

"I am to be married next year," he replies.

I squeal at the news, "Oh! Ryuu-chan, you have to tell me all about this woman!"

I listen intently as he speaks of his future-wife. I can't help but coo at the idea. Ryuu, outside of my family, had been the only person to know of my condition at the time. He had always been careful around me. Ryuu is a man that is kind in nature, but willing to stand for those weaker. He inspired me to take my final year attending the Academy and shove every glare back down their throats.

"I am curious. What would you say to being my Best Man, so to speak?"

I smile. Due to his 'geek-like' personality, Ryuu did not have many friends when I met him. "Oh, Ryuu-chan, I'd be honored. Does that mean, in the event of me having a date, they'd have to wear a dress?"

Ryuu chuckles in response, "You, my dear friend, are definitely an odd one. I'm afraid I must go for now. I will send you the invitation when the time comes."

"Goodbye, Ryuu-chan."

"_Sayōnara, Lexi-chan."_

Hanging up, I stare up at the ceiling. Hm...the Rōzu family, slowly growing in numbers. Something twinges in the back of my mind, but after a long, drawn-out yawn escapes my lips, I curl up and my eyes slide shut.

* * *

**Alright everyone! This is a special treat because my crap-tastic life caught me off guard and yanked me away from inspiration, but I am back, and this is for you. COSTUMES PEOPLE. For every Avenger. I know you guys have good ideas. With the upcoming holiday, I want fun costumes. I want costumes that are out-of-this-world. I want ideas that are not very common (i.e. vampires, werewolves...etc.) I want ideas that sound like plausible costume ideas for the team members. Credit goes to the ideas, as they will not be my own. This is my special way of getting my awesome reviewers and readers a voice in my story.**

**Really...you guys are awesome.**

**Shout outs to my reviewers for my previous chapter (Chapter Seven) will be given next chapter.**

**Until Next Time...**

**Really people. COSTUMES! **


	10. Chapter 10: This is Halloween

**Taste of Apples**

**Summary:**

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

**Author's Note:**

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Ten  
**This is Halloween

* * *

Whoever came up with the idea to take an idea, place every possible decision into a hat and have individual people pick their 'decision' without looking should be maimed. Horribly maimed. So maimed they make the maimed look tame. Dear Lord, I've confused even myself. When Tony said he was hosting a fund-raising Halloween party, and invited every conceivable person with substantial amount of money, the team (myself included) were quick to come up with things that _just_ happened to be important. After days of pleading, pouts, heavy debates and blackmail (Come on, do you really think Natasha would succumb to this idea any other way), we each pulled a costume idea from a hat and were sent on our way.

Again. Whoever came up with that idea should be tortured. So tortured that it makes the Devil himself look like a saint.

So, here I stand, staring at my reflection with wide eyes. My hair, free from its usual sporadic mess of braids, thin ponytails and loops, brushed over my shoulders in gentle waves. My make-up, lighter than usual, makes me feel completely out of place. Seeing the amount of skin revealed in this outfit makes me want to hurt someone. With bare shoulders and a low-dipping neckline, the tight-fitting bodice of the single, black leotard makes my nerves stand on end. Thankfully, my legs are able to be covered by skin-toned stockings, though the silver, strapped stiletto heels cause me to stand straighter and exceeding my petite stature by a total of five inches.

"Hey, Lexi, are you read-" Tasting wild strawberries, I glance up to see Natasha staring at me, eyes slightly wide, "Tell me _that_ is not your costume?"

Shifting nervously, I look over the beautiful (but short) kimono, blue and green floral print decorating the black silk. Her deep red hair is pulled back tightly, a jade-green ornamented comb tucked against the side of her head. Her round face is painted a soft white, cherry red lips and embellished edging along her eyelids, she looks quite beautiful. As though she is a concubine, or geisha. Beauty and poise.

"Y-yeah. I-I can't go out like this!" I squeak, turning my gaze back to my reflection.

Natasha heaves a gentle sigh before approaching, "Relax, Lexi. Think of this as a way to move past those insecurities you carry. Tonight...it is about being someone you aren't. You can be anything. You can do anything. So," Natasha's soft, supple voice trails off as she plucks the item clenched in my hand, and I watch in the mirror as she places the silver headband in my hair, "Live a little."

With Natasha, I follow slowly and nervously as we make our way to the floor level Tony decided to use for this party. Decorations in black, orange, purple and silver color the expanse of the room. Tastefully, every decoration carries a small fright-factor, and some even seemed to be stereotypical decorations. Various costumed-guests fills the room, as Jarvis seemed to pump a wide variety of music genres into the air. Caterers move around the people, Halloween-inspired finger foods and flutes of champagne filling trays balanced on well-practiced hands.

"_Lexi!?_" Heat immediately floods my cheeks at the sight of Clint's face staring at me, dark blue eyes wide with shock.

I can't help the giggle that leaves my lips at the sight of Clint's face painted as 'The Spaceman' from KISS. Decked out in black leather and metallic accessories, he even put on a black wig.

"Lady Lexi! I was not aware of there being any humanoid animals in this realm," Thor's hot-cocoa voice cuts in before Clint could say another word.

I don't even bother trying to fight the laughter at the sight of Thor's blue eyes staring back at me from behind rose-tinted glasses. A hemp headband wrapped around the circumference of his head, and his hair falls flat along the sides of his face. Brown bell-bottoms and a loose-fitting, forest green tunic-styled top completed the entire outfit.

"I bet Stark set this up on purpose," Clint hisses out in an annoyed whisper.

Quirking an eyebrow, I follow Clint as he points off in some direction. My gaze first lands on the mass of muscle draped in a white, long-sleeved t-shirt, the neckline of the shirt lower than the Captain is comfortable with. A bright red sash wraps around his hips, settling over the waistband of sleek, black willowy pants. Black, soft-leather boots and a cape complete the outfit (the cape black on the outside, red on the inside).

Standing next to Steve, Bruce's outfit causes me to giggle behind my fingers. His entire outfit is a dark red, the pants and short-sleeved shirt seemingly of the same material. A bright orange sash wrapped around his waist, across his chest and seemed pinned along his shoulder. If he had gone the extra mile and had worn a bald-cap, the outfit would have come together completely.

Shaking my head, I glance at the third member of the conversing trio, and a deep blush burns along my cheeks in a hot flood. A black-accented red robe, made of soft velvet drapes over Tony's torso. Pure black pajama-styled pants, made most likely of a silky fabric, hangs on his hips. He even went so far as to carry around a signature pipe.

"See!" Clint points out.

Clint's hissed shout must have carried, because not a second later, amber eyes glance up from the conversation and a spark of surprise flickers through them. Blushing as I watch those eyes travel down the length of my body at an eerily slow pace, I shift nervously before those eyes snap back up to my face. Tony's sudden silence causes the other two to look over and I can feel the blush on my cheeks travel to the tips of my ears and down the length of my throat.

"Lexi!" Steve greets, his own cheeks tinging pink at my revealing outfit. "Y-You-"

"-are the most alluring Playboy Bunny I've seen," Tony's voice cuts through, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek in hope that my blush does not start to travel further down my body. "Who would have thought?"

"C-Clint thinks you set this up," I stutter, cursing my nervous tension.

"Now, how could I do that? We all pulled names from a hat," Tony points out needlessly, a small grin on his face.

Before I can respond, Natasha is carefully grabbing me by the elbow and leading me away from the guys. In the past week, since I revealed to her my condition, I find myself growing attached to Natasha. Almost in the same familial fashion as Clint. She still watches me more than she talks to me, but it doesn't bother me. In fact, I kind of enjoy the occasional bout of comforting silence.

As the night progresses, I managed to dance with Clint, Thor and even Bruce. Steve insisted that it felt awkward even looking at me in my state of dress, so dancing with the Cap'n was not an option. Relaxing in one of the numerous chairs, I watch in awe as Clint twirls Natasha around on the dance floor. They both move, so fluent and so beautiful, with each step matching up perfectly. The two obvious carry an underlying tension, something unresolved between them. The opening for a budding romance, quite obvious to everyone, but something holds them back. I can tell, from the adoration in Clint's eyes and the softened features of Natasha's painted face.

"Happy Halloween, Bright-Eyes."

The taste of apples causes me to look away from the dancing pair, "_Bonsoir_, Tony. Happy Halloween. This party has been quite a turn out."

"Yes. There's nothing like taking the money of pompous, arrogant fools and giving it all to charity," Tony quips, grinning over at me.

Despite my lack of dress, I relax, a small giggle leaving my lips, "Yes. Yes it seems to be doing well in that case," Standing from my chair, I flash him a small grin, "I am going to step out onto the terrace. It's very...stuffy in here."

Stuffy my ass. The many foreign flavors and changes in music genres are messing with my head. Stepping out onto the terrace, Tony follows me, leaning against the railing as I take the moment to light up the cigarette. For a while, as we stand on the terrace, looking out at the city light, there is nothing but silence between us, the muted sound of music and laughter from inside faded and distorted through the glass door. It is times like this that makes me forget everything going on in my life; even that I'm dressed in this ridiculous outfit.

"What a pair we make, huh?" Tony muses aloud in a thoughtful manner.

"What do you mean?" I ask, knowing that I am no where near his level.

"We both did not have the greatest childhood. We both graduated our schooling at a young age and advanced in our chosen profession. We both made mistakes with our lives when we hit ground zero. We both are making names for ourselves in our careers," I quirk an eyebrow at this, to which he grins, "I've seen your artwork, and I've never felt so...pulled into a drawing or painting like I am with your's. There is only one thing that plagues me about you."

"You mean there is something in this world that your genius can't comprehend?" I tease, exhaling a small stream of willowy silver-grey smoke into the air.

"How someone, who has experienced so much pain and heartache, someone like you, can find it in themselves to remain so...innocent in nature," Tony asks, turning to face me.

A self-deprecating smile forms on my lips, "I don't really have a choice. My life wasn't a walk in the park, but my life could be worse. I look back at all the things I've done or the things I was too scared to try, and I wonder why any of it matters. If my own parents couldn't figure me out, then how can I assume anyone else can?" I snort at the words, "Then again, I met someone, Jacques Mason, a guy who is just like me. I see the love he carries through life and he, he showed me how to overcome the pains of the past and accept the future as it comes."

A hand moves in my line of sight and I shiver as calloused fingers gently brush against my cheek, a faint whisper dancing in my mind as I feel them guide my face to look in his direction. I swallow the sour-bite flavor, feeling any response fade as I fall into a deep stare. His amber eyes, illuminating with intelligence and a gleam of curiosity as he stares back, pulling me deeper as I feel an odd sensation, as though I am free-falling from thousands of feet in the air. My cheek burn hot as I watch his brows knit together in contemplation, as though he is working on a puzzle of some kind. As his body grows closer, the warmth from his wafts over my cool skin and my eyes flutter shut. His thumb brushes along my cheek again, my nerves growing tense from the whispered caress and the curled finger beneath my chin prompts me to lift my face a few inches.

"How is it someone so innocent in nature came to be in our lives?"

I shiver as his apple-flavored whisper brushes a soft air of mint-flavored breath against my cheeks. Opening my eyes, my breath catches in my throat at the sight of his face, so full of passion, inches away from my own. No one has ever come this close. Not my parents. Jacquot on occasion has breached my personal bubble. No one, in a romantic sense, with romantic intentions, has ever bothered to get passed the complexity of my personality.

"Lady Lexi!"

The booming cocoa-flavored voice breaks the moment and Tony drops his hand from my face as he steps back. A faint shiver at the loss travels up my spine and I feel my cheeks flood delicately as I blatantly ignore the burning gaze of the genius to look over at Thor. I giggle inwardly at the sight of a slightly intoxicated God leaning in through the open door, blue eyes gleaming with booze and enjoyment.

"You must come and grant me another dance!"

Feeling bashful, I give Tony a small smile before following Thor to the dance floor. As Thor twirls me expertly around the dance floor, I try to forget the burning flutter deep within my core left by the billionaire genius. After my dance with Thor is finished, I step off the dance floor and go in search for something to drink. Sipping a glass of water, I spot Clint and Tony in the middle of a debate of some kind, their hands moving in emphasis to their words.

"I take it you are having a nice night?" Steve's pumpkin-pie voice breaks through my observation of the two heroes.

Nodding as my gaze follows Tony, him stalking away from Clint as he makes his way toward the wet bar, "I am. It's been a while since I've had a chance to relax."

"I notice you and Stark are becoming close," I blush at Steve's words, causing the soldier to chuckle, "It's none of my business, but as your friend, I would like to caution you. Stark is a good man, very intelligent, and he usually gets just about whatever he wants," I giggle, knowing that much is true, "but you are innocent and I only hope you take caution when it comes to him."

"You mean you don't care if something comes of this?" I ask, glancing over at the soldier.

Steve shakes his head, "Who am I to tell someone else how they should feel about another? Just...be careful with your heart. It is one of the things we admire about you. Your love of everything and your devotion to those around you. You even managed to get into Natasha's good graces, and it's almost always difficult for someone to do so."

"Who am I kidding though? Why would someone like Tony want anything to do with me in a romantic sense?" I question, feeling old insecurities bloom.

Steve frowns slightly, before a gentle look appears on his face, "It is you that is too good for Stark. Though, I think if there is anyone that can get Tony and knock him into the realm of humility, it would be someone like you."

I blush, glancing down at my drink.

_"Excuse me, Sir,"_ Jarvis's metallic-flavored voice cuts through the music, the party growing silence, _"but there seems to have been a terrorist attack at the American Embassy in Osaka, Japan. I have news that it may need some attention from you."_

My body tenses and I barely hear Tony dismissing the party. The American Embassy? The American Embassy. My eyes widen and I snap as a hand rests on my bare shoulder, a stern, commanding hum vibrating along my nerves. Looking into the face of Steve, I can see the shift from Steve Rogers to Captain America in his gaze.

"I'm afraid you need to return-"

"I'm going with you!" I interrupt, hearing silence fall over the rest of the team, "I am going with you guys."

"We can't take a civilian into-"

"I don't give a fuck what you can, or can't do!" I see Steve's eyes widen at the urgency in my tone, "I _need_ to go with you."

"Lexi," Nectarines cuts through my senses, "you could be in danger if we take you."

"If any of you care about me in any fashion, you _will let me go_," I stress, feeling the frantic feelings rush through my body.

Steve opens his mouth, most likely to argue, when Tony steps forward, "She will be with us at all times. Lexi must believe that this has a connection to the recent issues in her life. I take it you know of someone that words in the Embassy?" I nod mutely, "Then she will come with us, if only to put her mind at ease."

Without giving Steve, or anyone else, a chance to argue Tony's words, I stagger out of the room and toward the elevator. Throwing things together in a bag, I quickly change out of my costume and into a pair of lounge clothes. Gathering whatever is packed, I race out of the room and to the elevator, Natasha waiting for me.

"Are you sure about this?"

Swallowing the lump of strawberries, I nod, "I have to go. I just have to."

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Again, life is a little hectic, so I'm trying to keep up with the story. This is a marking point in things, truths, unraveling. As you see, tension will start to rise between Lexi and Tony. Costumes ideas goes out to: For Clint, Thor, Steve and Natasha - Beshineshi and the idea for Tony goes out to - Ali! Lexi and Bruce's were my ideas. I wanted her to try something to get her out of her comfort zone!**

**Onto Reviews!**

**candyz: Thank you so much for your review. I am glad you are enjoying it.**

**CheekyMonkey97: aww...your comment makes me blush.**

**Ali: Thank you so much for reviewing and your idea for Tony as Hugh Hefner was just AWESOME!**

**xxxRena: Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed the girl bonding moment.**

**katielee97: Thanks hun. Who poisoned Angelique? Well...I can't tell you that. No, Jacquot is gay, so he is definitely not, and never has been, in a relationship with Lexi.**

**Beshineshi: Thanks for your costume ideas! I laughed at the idea of Thor as a flying monkey, but I then thought he would look more amusing as a hippie.**

**Human-Wolf Hybrid No.008 - I am pleased you are enjoying this story so much. What flavor am I? If I think about it, I would say a coconut. I am really hard and it takes a lot of effort to get inside my 'good graces' but once you're in, I am sweet and refreshing!**

**Wolf-Hybrid brings up a good idea. What would you, the readers, think your 'flavor' would be? Explain your ideas.**

**To everyone who has enjoyed the story, thank you so much.**

**Until Next Time!**


	11. Chapter 11: Confusing Ties

**Taste of Apples**

**Summary:**

My name is Lexi Roux. I am twenty-years-old and because I am just that awesome, I just recently graduated from Universite Paris Sorbonne, in Paris, France. I never expected my life to change so drastically after the death of my parents. I never really expected to have to put my life on hold, my Tante Maria telling me that my parents had been agents for some S.H.I.E.L.D. agency.

I guess Tante Maria never explained to these...Avengers, that I have what people call Synethesia. Every voice carries a taste. Every touch carries a sound.

Now, if I could just get the taste of apples out of my mouth and ignore the soft whispers against my skin.

**Author's Note:**

Lexi Roux is of my own creation. She is twenty years old and incredibly talented in Fine Arts. She also suffers from what is called Synethesia, which is where the brain confuses some of the sensory triggers. Voices cause her to taste flavors, music causes her to see metallic-shaded colors (compare it to the visualizers for ITunes or Media Players) and anything she touches she hears sounds. This doesn't effect her normal senses; sight, hearing or smell, it might sound confusing, but it won't seem so odd when you read on. She has been living in France for many years, so she uses some French terms, but did grow up in America so her first language is English.

Because I absolutely adore Tony Stark (there are so many different sides to Tony that makes him so...delicious), this will be a Tony/OC story.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own the Avengers, or anything in relation to Marvel. The plot and Lexi are completely my own.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Eleven  
**Confusing Ties

* * *

I find myself at a loss for words as I stare at the heavily damaged building. The building that had once been the American Embassy located in Osaka, Japan, now rendered to nothing more than a pile of rubble and broken wall frames. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I watch as the team moves forward, assuming their roles as heroes, and I find myself remembering days, long ago, spent visiting the ambassador. Looking around, moving my gaze over the emergency relief specialists as they shift through the rubble in search of any remains, I shake my head at myself.

No. This isn't where I need to be. Seeing the team so busy trying to help out the authorities, I take a tentative step backwards before a few more steps follow. Turning on heel, I think hard for a brief moment before remembering the way, and I stalk down the sidewalk. Remembering various houses and shops, some of the shops having closed many years ago, I slowly recall walking this path many times. Arriving before a quaint, beautiful house, I approach the front door and knock curtly against the door.

A beautiful ebony-haired woman with dark brown almond-shaped eyes stands at the other side of the threshold. A stern, slightly cold look in her eyes makes me tense and I stand upright. Watching as her gaze looks over my simple clothing and pale skin, she seems to come to the conclusion that I am not from around here.

"_Gomen'nasai. Īe intabyū wa arimasen."_

"I'm not a reporter," I respond, watching her eyes widen, "My name is Lexi Roux," The surprised glint softens substantially, "I am hoping to speak with Ryuu."

"_Ni kite kudasai_," she insists, motioning for me to come into the house, "Ryuu has told me many good things of you. Ryuu said you dear friend."

I smile softly at her words, "You must be his wife-to-be?" A blush spreads across her cheeks and a beautiful, small smile forms on her lips, "It is nice to finally meet you."

"I am Tanaka Maki," the Japanese-beauty replies as I slip my shoes off by the door, "Ryuu-kun is down in basement."

Muttering a soft thanks, I move through the familiar layout and down a flight of stairs. The basement had been turned into a private microbiology lab, test tubes and beakers full of various chemicals lining tables. The walls of the room decorated in various plants and roots. Seeing the familiar dark-haired figure hunched over as he sits in the lab chair, I feel my eyes burn with tears at the sight. I don't remember looking, or even feeling, so emotionally compromised, not like the man before me. His handsome, sharp features pulled into a somber expression. His light brown eyes surrounded by faded-red, tear streaks trailing along his cheeks.

"Ryuu-chan?" I greet softly.

Those heart-broken eyes snap up to me and I am caught of guard as the man launches himself at me. His embrace floated along my skin in a forlorn melodic hum, and I fight back the sensation as I feel his body shaking in my grasp. I cannot imagine how he must feel. The relationship I had with my parents had been no where near the same level as Ryuu's. The deep love had always been something anyone, even a strange, could see and I respected the Rōzu family for that very reason.

"Lexi-chan. Otousan, he didn't make it out of the building. When the bomb threat was called into the Embassy, Otousan ordered everyone to evacuate. H-He stayed behind to make sure most of the people we out of the building," Ryuu says between heavy sobs.

Licking my lips as dragon fruit trickles along my tongue, I smile weakly, "Your father has always been an honorable man. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Do you remember me telling you about the Mason family?" Ryuu nods slowly, "Well, Angelique, my old roommate's mother, had been poisoned about a month ago. She's healthy now, but...I think whoever tried to kill her did in fact target your dad as well."

"What could you have possibly done to attract such negativity?' Ryuu questions, at a loss for my words.

"I'm not sure. Whoever is behind this, they are the same person responsible for the accident that killed my parents," I reply curtly, "A friend of mine, she says she caught a trail of one of this guy's underlings, and apparently, they are looking for a Book of Rose."

Ryuu quirks an eyebrow, "Odd. Rōzu means Rose, but I never published any of my work. I am...continuing the work my mother never finished."

"Did your mother every publish any of her work? Do you know what she had been working on?" I ask, looking over the variety of colored liquids bottled in test tubes.

"My mother was working on a naturally synthesized cure for dementia, or Alzheimer," Ryuu replied, "I am not sure what they would find useful with it."

I hum thoughtfully, "Why would my parents be connected with this? Why does this have to be confusing? None of this is adding up. My parents undercover agents. Angelique is a philanthropist by nature and donates substantial amount of money toward medical findings. Both you and your mother are working on this. How is it connected?"

"The only benefactor supporting my research is a man named Marcel," Ryuu adds as an afterthought.

Before I can respond, a sharp scream pierces the air, "_Deteike! Anata dare?"_

Hearing the urgency, I spring up from my chair, Ryuu quick to mimic my movements, and we race up the basement steps. Skidding into the foyer, ready to stop at nothing to protect what is left of this family, I stumble as I pull myself to a stop. Several furious faces peers at me and I giggle nervously, rubbing the back of my neck as I step back. A muttered Japanese curse breaks the tense silence as I hear a stumble of footsteps behind me and before I know it, Ryuu's body slams against my back. A fit of giggles explodes from my lips as I find myself tangled with the long, lanky limbs of Ryuu.

"If you are done laughing, Miss Roux," I wince at the disapproving tone in the pumpkin-pie flavored voice, "We would like to ask why you disappeared within the first five minutes of us touching down."

Pulling myself to my feet, I snort as Ryuu shoves me mockingly, "Take her. I've had enough of her already."

"_Kono yarō_," I mutter, glaring at him playfully before turning my full attention to the team of heroes standing behind a fearful Maki. "Sorry if I worried you guys. I know I should have said something, but I...I haven't seen Ryuu in ages and figured I'd swing by."

"So? You used this mission as a vacation?" Tony bites out, looking slightly annoyed and angered.

My eyes widen at the accusation, "Of course not! May I introduce you to Rōzu Ryuu, son of Rōzu Taichi, the Japanese ambassador in charge of Japan-American relations." I watch as understanding appears on their gazes, "I figured you guys would handle all the heavy lifting, so to speak, and that I would take care of the...familial matters."

"So, you really did know someone from the Embassy?" Clint hums gently, "I'm starting to think these people are targeting family friends of your's."

"Tell me something I don't know," I sigh self-deprecatingly before turning to Ryuu and Maki, "How about we go out for dinner? We can catch up, and you can tell me more about this...cure you've been working on."

"Cure?" Bruce chimes in, "Cure for what?"

"Dementia. My mother started-" Ryuu prattles off as Maki, the rest of the team and I begin making plans for dinner.

As we arrive to a lovely authentic Japanese cuisine restaurant, I watch in silence as Ryuu (you know, once horribly shy and insecure) pulled Bruce and Tony in a deep conversation where the vocabulary exceeded my knowledge. Smiling softly at the microbiologist, my thoughts turn inward at Clint's earlier statement. The targets do seem to be friends of the family, but...how is that even possible? My parents never spoke to Ryuu more than five words at a time. My always busy parents, devoting eight memorable summer vacations to exotic countries. The same parents that had been rather reluctant to agree to me attending the University, until they met my roommate. Jacques Mason, who's mother is a major benefactor in the medical world. Angelique Mason, who apparently has been making donations toward Ryuu's research in her husbands name.

Then again, why is anyone looking to get information on a Dementia cure?

"So, Ryuu, how did you and Lexi meet?" Clint asks, causing everyone to lean in curiously.

I snort, glancing away. I don't have to listen to Ryuu's account of how we met. My parents and I stayed at the American Embassy for the month we spent in Japan. I watched Ryuu tend to the gardens of his late mother. He would talk as though I was speaking, even if I never responded. Eventually, he helped me open up and instructed me to put my foot down. Ryuu had helped me face my Senior year at the Academy and I have appreciated his support ever since.

How is the Rōzu family connected in all of this?

"Ryuu, if you don't mind me asking, you never speak of your mother?" Steve questions, and I swallow at the sickeningly sweet flavor.

I shoot Steve a pointed look, but am rendered speechless as Ryuu speaks up, "My mother died a few years before I met Lexi-chan. She grew sick, very sick, and within a few months, she passed away in her sleep."

Wait a minute. There is no way these people are after me. Ryuu's mother seems to have suffered from the same symptoms as Angelique. When Taichi spoke of his beloved wife, he spoke of her deep intelligence and a burning desire to help heal people. He spoke of her determined spirit and her inner strength. So eerily similar to Angelique. These people are after whatever cure Rōzu Hana had been busy trying to create, but besides Angelique being a benefactor toward the world of medicine what is the connection?

"Lexi?" I snap out of my thoughts and glance up at Natasha, realizing everyone is staring.

"I'm sorry. I seem to have gotten lost in thought. What's up?" I ask, trying to hide my growing confusion.

"Ryuu said you and your parents stayed with his family for a month almost five summers ago. Did you guys travel often?" Natasha asks.

I nod slightly, "A month during each of my summer breaks. We traveled to various places. Brazil. China. Here. Egypt. Morocco. I vaguely remember visiting Argentina one summer."

"That's a lot of traveling. It must have been a fun experience," Bruce comments.

"Yes. I've visited some of the most interesting sights as well as met some of the most interesting people," I reply, thinking over all of the people I vaguely remember meeting.

I remember the Chinese engineer who had been making plans of creating an electronic transmitter that could be implanted into some part of the nervous system that could act as a transplant for paralyzed people, or even the mute that have no voice. I vaguely recall the Brazilian toxicologist that studied rare plant and animal poisons and created serums for antidotes, as well as medicinal needs.

Hm...why did my parents know all of these people? Everything pointed to medicinal needs, but why would the agency send a pair of agents to investigate it?

Inwardly groaning, I curse the confusion of this mess my life is.

"So, Lexi-san, Ryuu-kun tell me you are to be best man for wedding in Spring," Maki breaks me out of my thoughts, and I swallow the honeysuckle flavor and smile warmly in response.

"_Hai_. I asked him if my date had to wear a dress," I reply, earning a giggle from my friend's fiance, as well as a round of chuckles from the rest of the table.

"Are you going to be wearing a suit?" Tony teases.

"Of course. Black, pinstriped. Can I wear a fedora too?" I question playfully toward Ryuu.

My friend chuckles at my question, "Just promise the bachelor party has no strippers and we will be fine."

Finishing dinner, I follow the group down the sidewalk, listening as they converse with such ease with my old friend. A warm smile spreads across my cheeks as I watch Ryuu gently clasp Maki's hand in his own. Such an innocent symbol of affection, but if I'm honest, it is one that I see as more genuine than any other. A hug is a close second.

Tension snaps into me, a deep guttural growl crawling across my skin as a pair of hand suddenly grips my shoulders. Before I can say anything, I am spun around, a hand slapping against my mouth and I peer into a pair of dark hazel-brown eyes. Taking in every feature, I feel my anxiety kick in, my breathing becoming labored as the growling grip continues to scratch along my nerves.

"You are becoming a nuisance," My eyes widen and I feel nausea churn in the pit of my stomach, tears forming in my eyes as the familiar flavor whispers along my tongue. "Stay out of our business, if you know what's good for you."

"Piss off," I manage to choke out.

A sneer appears on the handsome, but distorted face, and the man to shove me backwards. Stumbling, I barely manage to catch my balance before my name rings through the air, fear and worry rushing through my mind in a heavy mixture of a chocolate-coated fruit salad. A loud honk causes me to clutch at my head, the sharp, bright swirl of maroon cutting through the other sensations.

At the sudden silence, I open my eyes and stumble back at the sight of Thor standing between me and a car, his hand planted firmly against the front grill and hood. A swirl of mixed emotions hits me, my body shaking as I feel it pulled off toward the side of the road. A million in one questions floods my senses and I place my hands against my ears, shaking my head.

"SHUT UP!"

The sudden void of silence causes me to taste the familiar residue before the near car accident and I find myself hunched over, the contents of my dinner splattering against the concrete sidewalk. Shudders rack my body as I slowly gain some semblance of normality and my eyes open, the blurry sight of my friends surrounding me.

"L-Lexi? Lexi, you're alright. You are unharmed," Steve insists.

Shaking my head, I spit at the ground, "Liquorice. I fucking _hate_ liquorice."

"What does liquorice have anything to do with you standing in the middle of the damn street?"

The mash-up of emotional content tainted the sour-apple flavor against my taste buds and I aim a glare at Tony, "_Everything."_

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Sorry it's taken so long, but slowly the chaos of my life is being put to rest and I should have more frequent updates in the next coming week. Before anyone starts making assumptions, the bad guy in my story is an OC, and it really is a twisted little back story between him and Lexi...which will be reveal at a later date.**

**Onto my lovely reviewers!**

**Ashes2Dust18: I am so pleased you think my story is the best! It makes me grin so much to hear words of praise!**

**Anonymous: THANK YOU! I can't believe I messed that up. I am truly sorry, and yes, I agree consistency is important...so...i went back and fixed everything...I even forgot to change the chapter number. Gah...sorry, my head has been a bit mixed up, but thank you.**

**Crystal-Wolf: Thank you my dear!**

**Missing A Muse: I eat everything but the rind. Watermelons are one of my favorites. Growing up in south Florida, watermelon is a must to cancel out dehydration. I am pleased you are enjoying the tension I put between them. I didn't want them to kiss...just yet anyway.**

**xxxRena: Thank you dear. I am pleased you enjoyed the almost kiss as well.**

**watergoddesskasey: I am walking my five-year-old daughter and her two friend (who's parents are busy working) during trick'r'treat. She says she wants to be a princess this year (sighs)...next year we are doing superheroes! She's quite an opinionated child. Thanks for the 'awesome' count!**

**Ravenclaw Slytherin: Thanks again!**

**withcbaby300: Lemons will be further in the story, and I would pin Loki as a more...caramel flavor...sickeningly sweet and yet irresistible. He is the God of Mischief and Lies...of course he is irresistible, so caramel would suit him best. Though...it is not Loki, and I am pleased you enjoyed the tension I put in there.****  
**

**Beshineshi: -squeals- aww...you made me laugh. Yes, there will be Pepper later in the story. Kind of curious about what flavor to give her though.**

**gracelpv: Thank you!**

**Cheekymonkey97: Thank you so much. I am glad!**

**Artemis: mmm...chili hot chocolate is one of my favorite winter drinks...after butterscotch/chocolate (reminds me of my papaw)**

**WOW! 75 MINIONS AT THIS POINT! 75 reviews and little silent minions...you guys have no idea how happy you made me. It helped but a smile on my face to see that, and after the stressful week I've had, I really needed it. Thank you guys, so much!**

**Until Next Time!**


End file.
